Nontraditional Vows
by SciFiDVM
Summary: When a mission goes horribly wrong, Charlie and Monroe pretend to get married to save the rest of the group. An all out war with the Patriots ensues. Starts off after the events of 2x09.
1. Legally Binding

**Title**: Nontraditional Vows  
**Fandom**: Revolution  
**Spoilers**: Through 2x09  
**Rating**: M (for sex, language, violence)  
**Pairings**: Charlie Matheson/Bass Monroe  
**Disclaimer**: No copyright infringement intended. I make no money from this.  
**A/N:** Cross-posted from AO3 now that I've finally finished it. This was started as part of a Secret Santa giftfor Rusalkagirl over on the nbc_revolution LiveJournal page. The last chapter just took me a while to finish. 

**Legally Binding**

Bass had been moody to the point of being recalcitrant ever since they'd returned from the ill-fated attempt to reunite him with his son. In the year and a half since Miles had taken up with Charlie and lost touch with Connor, he'd been pulled into one of the Patriot re-education camps in California. The end result of the reunion was that Miles and Charlie had barely been able to drag Bass away and escape with their lives. Connor had been left alive, but they weren't sure how long that would last. He was a brutal killing machine with no free will or conscious thoughts of his own. The only up side of the situation was that it caused Bass to fully commit to the group's efforts to destroy the Patriots.

Aaron's mission of reconnection in backwater Oklahoma hadn't gone much better. The nanites had judged their creator, and they seemed to have decided that he'd failed the test. There would be no more mystical assistance for Team Matheson.

By the time the two disheartened groups had reconnected, their spirits were rather low. A small bit of good had come from the failed endeavors, however. Charlie had managed to grab a piece of paper off of Connor that contained some writing she couldn't read and the triangle and eye logo associated with the Patriots. Miles and Monroe recognized the artistic script from their Marine days, though none of the words were "stop" or "no guns", so that pretty much exceeded the amount of Arabic that either had taken the time to learn during their time in the Middle East. They'd shown the letter to Rachel and Aaron after the group's reunion. Rachel was no better off than the men.

Aaron glanced at it for a short moment and then casually read, "Priority targets in your vicinity. Execute with extreme prejudice. No hostages. Once sector cleared return to Oakland base."

"You read Arabic?" Miles looked at Aaron.

"I assume none of you remember Google Translate?"

Four blank stares were the only response.

"Neanderthals." Aaron grumbled. "It was a computer thing. Type in words and it translated them to whatever other language you wanted. I wrote the code. I learned to read a few other languages to help with the formatting and ensure the fidelity of the translations."

The realization that they could now decode the messages from Patriot command had been a turning point for their group. Their tactics switched from random attacks to tracing troop movements and zeroing in on high priority targets. It had become notably more successful than their previous strategy.

They'd been following their trail of information for a few months by the time it had led them to a local Magistrate just outside of Louisville that seemed to be a hub for high priority information.

"His docket is full for the morning." Rachel whispered to the small group around the courthouse. "Once he's in the courtroom we should have plenty of time to break into his office and find the information we're looking for."

"Doesn't sound like you're gonna have much need for hitting or slicing. Guess I'm sitting this one out." Bass snarked.

"I want you and Charlie in the courtroom." Miles instructed. "You're our lookouts. If anything goes wrong or feels off, we get out of here."

"That room's gonna be crawling with Patriots. You sure you want us in there sitting there front and center?" Bass asked.

Rachel answered, "They don't know Charlie's face as well as the rest of us, and no one's looking for you since they think they already killed you."

"I should be doing the recon with you." Charlie pouted at Miles.

"Three's already gonna be a crowd." Miles informed her, then softened, "And someone's gotta keep an eye on him." His eyes darted over to Bass.

Recently, the job of babysitting Monroe had fallen to her more often than not, whenever his particular skill set wasn't deemed necessary for the mission at hand. It was like they were afraid he'd get bored and just start killing people to pass the time if he was left unattended. Sure, he was surlier after what had happened with Connor, but he hadn't gone completely off the deep end. Charlie felt like they were being a little ridiculous, but she supposed they had enough historical precedent on this topic to warrant being cautious. Being Bass's keeper wasn't really that awful. They'd developed a rapport over the months since they'd "reconnected" in New Vegas, and he had a veritable treasure trove of humorous old Miles stories that he never felt bad about sharing. What bothered Charlie the most about the arrangement was the way Miles routinely picked her mother over her for the important missions. The year she had spent with Miles tracking down Danny and then fighting the Republic had been the first time in her life that she had gotten to be the favorite child. Now, with whatever was going on between her uncle and her mother, Charlie had been dropped back to playing second fiddle. It stung a little. Bass had also noticed that he was never Miles's first choice anymore, unless the situation called for swords to slice through vital organs repeatedly. It was just something else she and Bass shared, though neither ever dared to mention it out loud.

And so the groups separated as the townspeople began to filter into the courthouse. Miles, Rachel, and Aaron heading stealthily, at least as much as Aaron was capable of, around the back of the building as Bass and Charlie made their way inside. They took seats on the end of the row in the second aisle from the back.

"Settle in, kid. Looks like it's gonna be another long day of defeating the Patriots by sitting on our asses." Bass whispered to her, coaxing a bit of a smile to her lips. "What do you think the odds are that any of these cases will end up being something juicy and salacious?" He raised an eyebrow.

Just then they were interrupted by the bailiff announcing, "This court now comes to order. The honorable Judge Franklin Isaacs presiding. Our first case today is a property tax dispute between Frederick Wollard and the Commonwealth of Kentucky. Freddy, if you'd come on up and state your case."

Bass rolled his eyes and let his head rock backwards on his shoulders in exasperation.

Fortunately for Bass, but unfortunately for the rest of the group mid-heist in the judge's chambers, the cases had been finished in exceedingly short order. The tax dispute was dismissed after a few sentences. The second case was a drunk and disorderly charge that had to be rescheduled because the defendant had been arrested the night before and was still too inebriated in the town drunk tank to contribute to his own defense. A land dispute had settled out of court overnight, and the only witness in a horse thieving case had recently disappeared, leaving the case with no actual evidence, and getting it quickly dismissed. In all, it had taken less than fifteen minutes.

Bass and Charlie exchanged worried glances as the audience began to collect their belongings, and the judge stood at the bench. Miles and friends still needed more time.

"If there are no further matters for the court, I hereby declare this session adjurn…"

"Wait!" Bass jumped up out of his seat.

"What are you doing?" Charlie hissed at him, her eyes huge.

"Play along." He ordered in a whispered tone from the side of his mouth. The entire courtroom was looking at him now.

"What is it, son?" The judge asked.

"There was one thing I was hoping you could help us with, since it looks like y'all might have the time available." He even added a slight twang to his accent for effect. Charlie rolled her eyes as he put a hand on her upper arm and pulled her to her feet.

"We're on our way to meet up with family in Lexington, and, well… turns out that my girl here is… in a family way." Bass beamed proudly.

Charlie barely kept the horror from her face, but was quick witted enough to pooch out her stomach as much as possible and drop a protective hand to her belly. She knew that playing along was probably a matter of life and death for her uncle, mother, and friend at this point, but she was not thrilled about where she thought this charade was going.

"And I'd like to make an honest woman of her before we meet up with her folks." The crowd gave some supportive cooing sounds.

The judge smiled broadly at the happy couple and waved in their direction. "Come on up here young man. And bring that lovely young bride of yours."

Bass took Charlie by the hand and all but dragged her into the aisle. As they made their way up to the judge, Charlie leaned in and snapped in Bass's ear, "There's no way this is legal, right?"

Bass just laughed at her.

"Who is this positively radiant young lady?" The judge addressed them.

Charlie was too mortified to think clearly and actually began to give her real name, "Charlie Math…"

Bass cut Charlie off, "Charlene Mathews, your honor. And I'm Jimmy, uh… James King."

"Well Jimmy, Charlie… Are you two ready to get married?"

"Why, yes sir. " Bass looked giddy. Charlie still just looked mortified.

"Miss, you don't look so well." The judge noted. "Are you sure you're ready to go through with this?"

Bass gave Charlie a quick kick to her shin, and the stab of discomfort brought her mind back to the task at hand. "I'm sorry, it's all just so… It's the hormones…" She gave Bass a look that screamed "you owe me".

Bass chuckled.

The judge nodded understandingly. "Do you have rings?" He asked Bass.

Crap. Charlie realized that their little plan was about to be foiled. Who wanted to get married and didn't have rings?

"Just for her." Bass answered. Charlie's head whipped over to face him in shock as he continued. "Times are tough and we're heading east looking for work, so I only have the one."

"That's fair enough these days." The judge placated.

Charlie suddenly became intrigued as he tugged at one of the thinner leather strands making up the cuff he seemed to always wear on his left wrist. When it untied, a single gold band, that she had always mistook for a buckle or simple adornment, slid free.

In response to her look, he whispered, "My mother's."

She looked at him skeptically, not entirely sure she believed what he'd said. That he had somehow managed to hang on to something like that for so many years was unlikely. But something about the look in his eyes and the way she knew he valued family over everything else leant the claim credibility.

"Then let's get started, shall we?" The judge gestured to the court clerk, and she brought up a piece of paper. He filled in a few blank lines, and then addressed the pair before him. "Jimmy, if you'll repeat after me. With this ring,"

He looked down at Charlie and took her hands in his. He slid the band onto the ring finger of her left hand and looked into her eyes. "With this ring,"

"I, James King…"

"I, James King…" He winked at her and she rolled her eyes.

"Take you, Charlene, to be my lawfully wedded wife."

"Take you, Charlie, to be my lawfully wedded wife." He sneered slightly at the slight change of wording to include her real name. She rolled her eyes again.

"To have and to hold from this day forward."

"To have and to hold from this day forward." He raised an eyebrow at her slightly at the part about the holding. She resisted ripping her hands out of his.

"For better for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health,"

"For better for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health," He continued to look into her eyes, and she noticed them beginning to glisten ever so slightly with moisture.

_Stupid ass_, she thought. She knew she had been right when she'd accused him of being able to cry on cue. That damn sociopath had the crowd eating out of his hands. No way she could top that.

"To love and cherish, 'till death do us part."

"To love and cherish, 'till death do us part."

As he finished the last part, she mouthed, "That can be arranged. Again."

He smiled.

As Charlie began to recite the same spiel, Bass felt a weird clenching sensation in his gut. Sure this was about as fake of a wedding as could possibly exist, but real or not, he'd just said those words. Before the blackout, he'd never had the slightest inkling to settle down. Getting married would have severely cramped his ability to sleep with any pretty face or hot piece of ass that he could find. After the blackout there had been Shelly. He'd been ready for it, even given her the ring that was now on Charlotte's finger. They'd just never gotten around to it before… He refused to let himself think about that now. After that, he didn't believe in any of it, didn't want to ever go through that kind of pain again. So the President of the Monroe Republic had remained a notorious bachelor. But now that he'd actually recited the age old vows, he felt a twinge of guilt that the only time he'd ever say them had been a mockery of everything they stood for. Listening to Charlie reluctantly repeat them, he could still feel the words in his mouth like a bad aftertaste.

He was broken out of his reverie by a sudden change in the pitch and cadence of Charlie's voice. "Yeah. There's no way 'obey' is going to happen. How come he didn't have to say anything about obeying me?"

Bass, and the crowd, just laughed at her. Of course, he realized, even in a fake wedding she would never agree to obey him.

The judge looked a little taken aback. "That's how the traditional vows are written." He began to explain.

Bass saved the day by smiling up at the judge. "I'm ok with this being a little untraditional. How about we just leave out that part." He gave Charlie's hand a little squeeze as he added, "She's never obeyed me before, don't expect that any words are gonna make her start now."

She smiled up at him, realizing that it was the first time since this all started that it was actually Sebastian Monroe truthfully addressing Charlotte Matheson.

The judge seemed to be okay going along with it. "Well then, let's try that again. Do you agree to love and to cherish this man, till death do you part?"

"Sure." Charlie looked rather noncommittal. Then she caught Bass's glare. "I mean, I do. Yes, I do."

"Wonderful!" The judge exclaimed, a bit more excited about the nuptials than Charlie had been. "Then by the power invested in me by the Commonwealth of Kentucky, and the President of the great United States of America…"

Charlie and Bass both shuddered at the inclusion of the Patriots.

The judge signed the paper in front of him with flourish and announced, "I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Charlie knew that her performance up to this point had been a little lackluster, and that they did need to really sell the whole thing or risk being found out.

Bass looked a little hesitant as he leaned his face down toward her. She rolled her eyes, planted her hands on the back of his head, and pulled his face into hers. Their lips met and she went for it, before she had a chance to think or really consider what she was doing. He was a little startled, but fell into step quickly as she shoved her tongue into his mouth. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her back deeply. Their tongues warred for dominance, and seemed determined to work off the pent up anxious energy this whole awkward situation had created. She moaned slightly into his mouth and he couldn't stop himself from pulling her more tightly against his body and arching into her. They were both losing it. The stress of this ill-conceived plan had been a bit too much for them and they had ended up desperate for some type of release.

They only pulled apart when they were interrupted by an awkward cough and "Ahem."

They sheepishly pushed away from each other and then stared into each other's eyes still dazed and bewildered by what had just happened.

"Not too hard to see how you two ended up in the situation you did." The judge smiled at them knowingly, if slightly uncomfortable.

Bass didn't seem like he had yet regained the ability to speak, so Charlie smiled up at the judge, "Thank you."

"It was my pleasure. Best of luck to you and the baby."

Charlie just smiled and put her hand on her abdomen again.

The judge then stood and announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to introduce Mr. and Mrs. King." He began to clap and then handed a paper to Charlie.

As the audience began to clap as well, the happy bride and groom smiled, waved, and left the courtroom hand in hand.

As they exited the building they instantly separated. They walked toward their wagon, just in time to catch Miles's eye as their companions came sneaking around from the back of the building.

He approached Charlie with a concerned look. "What happened in there?"

She looked up at Miles with cold eyes and shoved the marriage license in her hand against his chest. "Don't say I'm not willing to make sacrifices for this family." Then she walked over and silently hopped into the wagon.

Miles registered what the paper was and looked at Bass furiously. "What did you do?"

"What we had to, to buy you all enough time to get out of there." Bass snapped. "Your intel was crap. That judge finished his shit in no time and was headed straight back to bust your asses."

"So you decided to get married?" Miles yelled then looked around to make sure no one had overheard.

"I could have just started killing people, but I know you tend to frown on that these days." Bass rubbed his hand through his hair and down over his face. "And you realize that the marriage thing wasn't real, right?"

"I told you to come get us if there was trouble."

"There was no way we could get to you first." Monroe stood by his decision.

"Dammit Bass, I don't like you going off script and dragging Charlie into it with you."

"So I was just supposed to let you get taken out?"

Miles just growled and stormed over to the wagon. He wasn't sure why Bass's little gambit bothered him so much. He had bought them the time they needed without resorting to violence. Truth be told, it was actually a good plan. Then he looked back to see Charlie staring blankly into space as the rest of the team climbed into the wagon. That was the problem. He doubted she was the type of girl that ever spent time day-dreaming about her fantasy wedding, but even so, having to fake getting married to Bass as her first experience with the institution wasn't likely to leave her with a good impression of it. And she'd done it because of him. Just one more good thing in this world that he'd ruined for one of the few people he cared about. It wasn't really Bass that he was angry with.

The whole group had been quiet and moody for the rest of the day. It wasn't that unusual for them, but everyone just seemed to be a little more on edge than usual when they set up camp for the night and ate dinner. Afterward, Bass had secluded himself and was sitting near their dwindling fire, poking at the embers with a stick. Charlie made her way over to him and sat down at his side. He didn't turn as she sat, so she nudged him with her elbow until he finally acknowledged her.

"What's going on? You made it all the way through dinner without a single joke about consummating our marriage. It's not like you to miss a chance to give Miles a stroke." She smiled at him.

"Got stuff on my mind."

She knew that when he got like this there was no point in pushing. She spun the band on her ring finger one last time before pulling it off and extending it out to him. "I wanted to give this back to you."

He made no move to accept it. "Might as well keep it. I got no one to pass it on to, and it's not like I'm gonna settle down any time soon."

She took his hand, pried open the fingers, and deposited the ring. She curled his fingers back around the ring and gave his hand a little squeeze. "You kept this with you all these years. You can't tell me you suddenly don't care."

"Some piece of metal doesn't change the fact that I've got no family left."

She was surprised that he was being this candid. Something about today really had gotten to him. "How'd it happen? Your parents… was it after the blackout?"

He wasn't sure why he felt compelled to answer her question, but he did. "A couple years before. Some guy got drunk, got behind the wheel, and crashed into their van. Killed my parents and my kid sisters."

"I'm sorry."

He looked her in the eyes finally. She really was sorry for him. How disgustingly ironic. He was being comforted about the loss of his parents and siblings by Charlotte Matheson, when he was the one that had caused her to lose hers. He pulled their sham marriage certificate from his jacket pocket and focused his gaze on it.

"Though I guess it could have been worse. I never had to get married to the drunk driver." He tossed the paper into the fire.

Charlie watched the parchment catch fire and burn down to ash before speaking. "There's a lot of blame to go around these days. You gotta find a way to let the hate go. Sounds to me like that guy made some bad choices. But I figure that if he'd known how his actions would come back to haunt him, understood how much pain he'd cause other people, he probably would have done some things differently."

Bass was quiet for a moment. She obviously wasn't just talking about the drunk driver anymore. "When you put it like that… I suppose _he_ would have." He looked up at her, unable to comprehend when he'd done something right enough to deserve having her show up in his life.

She got up and put a hand softly on his shoulder, then leaned down and spoke kindly, "Yeah. I know. I'm the best wife ever." His shoulders shook with a little chuckle that didn't make a sound. She leaned down and placed a soft kiss on the top of his head before walking over to join the others.

Aaron was reading through the stack of papers they'd stolen from the judge's secret stash. He had a lantern set on the small table he was using to transcribe his translations, and continued to work silently and studiously. Charlie was the first to notice that something was up. She saw Aaron's eyebrows hit his hairline and then he appeared to become even more focused on the letter he was working on. He scribbled his translation down frantically and then rechecked it once, twice, and then a third time.

"Aaron, what is it?" Charlie asked. Her questioning tone drew Miles and Rachel's attention.

"Aaron?" Miles questioned.

"I… I think I've found something." Aaron stuttered.

"You're going to have to be more specific." Miles was starting to look impatient.

Aaron's eyes were the size of saucers as he held out the note with his translation scrawled across the bottom.

Miles took it and scanned the writing. "Is this right? You're sure?"

"I've checked it like four times now. It's right." Aaron answered, still looking like he'd seen a ghost.

"What is it?" Rachel asked and took the paper from Miles's hand.

"Bass, you're gonna want to get over here." Miles called out. When he made no move to join the group, Miles tried again. "Bass. Get your ass over here."

"What's it say?" Charlie asked as her mom read the letter.

"How is this possible?" Rachel asked Miles.

"What does it say?" Charlie asked again, angry at being ignored. Rachel handed her the letter and she read it aloud to Bass, who had just appeared at her side. "Recent events have raised concerns about the integrity of the reprogramming process. Lt. Neville…" Charlie's eyes shot up and looked around the group before she continued, "…encountered his father on a routine patrol and failed to conform to reprogramming standards. Father and son are both currently working under the supervision of Commander Roger Allenford and are en route to the capital. Further evaluation to proceed on their arrival."

The entire group was now on their feet and anxiously looking back and forth between their members.

Charlie was the first to speak. "That means…"

Miles interrupted, "That Tom's alive. And if I know that manipulative bastard, which unfortunately I do, he's working some kind of angle on the Patriots."

Bass spoke as he grabbed the letter from Charlie's hands, desperate to read the words with his own eyes. "It means that the reprogramming can be reversed, and that sick son of a bitch knows how I can get my son back."

Charlie patted his shoulder. "So how do you feel about Washington DC for our honeymoon?"

Bass wrapped his arms around her, picked her up off her feet, and spun her around a few times before putting her back down and regaining his composure. Then he looked to Miles, "How soon until we can set out?"

"Morning. We'll ride for DC in the morning."

Rachel interrupted, "That letter is dated two months ago. We might already be too late."

"We have to try." Charlie fought back.

"I'm going. You all can do whatever you want." The look in Bass's eyes was pure determination.

"I'm going with you." Charlie stood defiantly.

"Easy kids." Miles rolled his eyes. "We're all going." Rachel opened her mouth to object, but Miles cut her off. "No discussion. We want to take these sick sons of bitches down, we're gonna need all the help we can get. Turns out we've already got a man on the inside. That's an advantage we don't walk away from."


	2. The Horse Whisperer's Wife

**The Horse Whisperer's Wife**

The group set off early the next morning, as Miles had promised. They'd travelled for about a day and a half, fueled by the excitement of the new scenario, before they realized that they were eventually going to need some kind of plan. Three of America's Most Wanted, a young woman that bore a striking resemblance to two of them, and the resurrected former public enemy number one were probably not going to be able to just stroll up to the Whitehouse and ask to speak to Tom Neville privately.

It was, however the first time in a long while that they were all in good spirits. They'd all found a renewed sense of hope, and it showed.

"What if you grew out a beard?" Bass teased Miles around the campfire as they ate dinner. It had become his go-to suggestion any time they talked about ways to appear less recognizable in Patriot territory.

Charlie and Rachel both glanced at Miles's face and grimaced. Miles in full Grizzly Adams beard wasn't the most attractive prospect.

"I can't imagine that looking like the Unabomber would make him _less_ conspicuous." Rachel let slip. It earned her a glare from Miles and a chuckle from Bass.

"What we need is some way to get someone inside their ranks." Aaron added.

"Way to state the obvious. Any other tactical insights you'd like to share, General Google?" Bass quipped.

Aaron ignored the dig and continued, "I've been going through some of the other letters we took, and I might actually have an idea."

…..

Charlotte stood uncomfortably, twisting the loop of gold on her ring finger, as had become her new nervous habit. She was in a dress and high heels, of all the horrible impractical things. And she was fairly certain that the horse Bass was currently inspecting and patting down was plotting her imminent demise, if the unpredictable glint in its eyes was any indication. Stupid Aaron and his stupid ideas.

One of the letters that had been swiped on their previous intelligence gathering mission had described the upcoming inspection of a Patriot cavalry horse breeding and training facility at the remnants of what had once been Churchill Downs, home of the Kentucky Derby. The inspector, a John Sumner, was also to select some of the prime specimens from the facility and escort them on a cargo train for DC the next day. The letter had caught Aaron's attention, because it had been sent from Commander Allenford. When they realized that the dates of the inspection aligned with when they would be passing through the area, it seemed like a good enough opportunity to use as a starting point of their infiltration. Being able to travel by train would also profoundly decrease the length of time it would take them to reach their destination.

Bass was the obvious choice for the imposter inspector. Besides being the least likely to be recognized, before the blackout and the family tragedy, he'd had to endure enough hours around the creatures while attending his little sister's riding lessons and horse shows to pick up the basics. The fact that he'd also had his own cavalry at one point didn't hurt either. The only hiccup to their plan came when they'd ambushed Sumner's small caravan. As they sifted through the carnage to prepare to take over their new identities, they realized that Sumner had been accompanied by his young, debutant wife. She'd been shot and killed in the crossfire. So while Miles, Rachel, and Aaron changed into the newly acquired Patriot uniforms and Bass donned the slick looking suit of a stereotypical horse trader, Charlie reluctantly dressed in the tailored frock and ridiculous footwear of the horse trader's wife.

"How many times in one week do I have to be married to you?" Charlie complained absently as she continuously adjusted and fidgeted with the bust line of the dress. She and Bass sat across from each other inside the carriage type wagon, as Rachel and Aaron drove, and Miles rode alongside on horseback.

"It's called a 'cover story'." Bass accentuated the words with air quotes. "And we know the Patriots have eyes and ears in places we'd never expect. That means it's 'till death do us part until we get to Washington."

"If I have to keep wearing this crap all the way to Washington, death might be preferable." She mumbled, still irritated by the restrictive clothing.

Bass watched her fussing with the garments and wondered if she'd ever actually worn a dress before. They probably could have put Miles in the heels and it would have seemed less out of place. As uncomfortable as she may have been in the other woman's clothes, the feminine get-up was certainly doing all the right things for her. The dress was a mint green number of soft cotton with a fairly revealing sweetheart neckline that fit tight across the bust and waist before flaring out in a knee length trumpet skirt. It hugged Charlie's curves like it had been made for her, and Bass found himself paying a little too much attention to the way her breasts were bulging and threatening to spill out the top of it as she continually adjusted the neckline. The memory of the very unexpected kiss they'd shared in the courtroom started to come back to him in flashes.

Annoyed by her constant motion and attempting to dislodge the suddenly impure thoughts that were creeping into his mind, he snapped at her. "Stop messing with it." Realizing that he probably sounded inappropriately harsh, he softened his voice before adding, "You look lovely. Leave it the way it is."

She nearly flipped him off at his command to stop adjusting the clingy fabric constricting her chest, but she instantly stilled at the compliment. That wasn't the kind of thing they said to each other. Sure they'd actually developed something that approached real friendship after all they'd gone through together in the past months, but it was all sarcasm and teasing quips. Compliments weren't part of their relationship. It made her suddenly feel uncomfortably aware of his eyes on her.

He realized that he'd screwed up when she suddenly became as still as a statue. Of course. He could threaten to kill her, punch her, hurl insults at her, tease her, and even marry her in a courtroom full of Patriots without it phasing her, but a compliment was completely out of bounds. He hadn't even meant it like that. Of course she did actually look lovely, beyond lovely even, but it was just something he said. His mother and sisters had trained him well. He'd learned early that you never tell a woman that she "looks fine". You say "fine" and they hear something else that is horribly insulting and you suddenly become the bad guy. You swap out the "fine" for any other complimentary word that would mean exactly the same thing if you asked another guy, and it ends up going down a thousand times better. Except with her. She assumed he was hitting on her. Now she was petrified, staring at him with a combination of surprise and horror. Good to know what kind of affect he had on women these days. Not at all insulting.

"You're supposed to be my wife, not my brat little sister. Learn to take a compliment or we're both gonna be shot dead."

Charlie blushed slightly and swallowed hard. She sat back against the back of the wagon and realized that he was right. She looked at him again, this time trying to imagine him as her husband. That concept still proved too foreign to her, but she was rather surprised to find that she appreciated the way he looked in the charcoal grey suit with a crisp white button up shirt underneath. It was like nothing she'd ever seen him wearing before. Randall Flynn was probably the only man she'd seen wear a suit in recent years, but it had not looked anything like this. This didn't look stuffy and unnecessarily formal. The jacket sat perfectly on his shoulders, the collar of it and the stretch of the shirt underneath as he moved hinted at the contour of a muscular chest. It looked… attractive. Charlie wasn't quite sure where that thought had come from, but as if to illustrate that her brain was now going completely haywire, she flashed back to the way it felt being pulled up against his chest when they'd had to kiss in that courtroom. She closed her eyes hard and let her head fall back against the back wall of the wagon again, attempting to eject the thought from mind. Then she hesitated. She didn't think about him like _that_, but if they were supposed to be playing house for the next few days, maybe finding him attractive wasn't the worst subconscious thought she could have right now. After all, her life and the lives of her family were dependent on them pulling this off.

So now she stood quietly, as out of the way as possible, playing her part of doting new wife to the well-dressed man currently inspecting a thoroughbred stallion that was supposed to be from some famous pedigree or whatever. Growing up in a post-blackout world, Charlie had spent no small amount of time around horses, but they had been the beasts of burden that pulled plows and carts. They were work animals, not pets, and she'd never felt any great regard for them. She'd also gotten kicked pretty bad by one when she was younger and it had left her slightly wary of the thousand plus pound animals. Bass, however, seemed to be almost enjoying the time he was getting to spend with them.

The farm's manager, a nearly clichéd version of a southern gentleman named Billy Jackson, had shown him some of their top stallions first. They were giant masses of muscle and testosterone that would prance out, pulling at the lead ropes and barely being constrained by their handlers, their coats glossy shades of red, brown, black, or grey. Charlie found their aggressive behavior intimidating, but Bass walked right up to each one. With a few firm but quiet words and noises and a strong hand running down the lines of their neck and head, they would seem to calm.

"He's always had a way with them. Damnedest thing." Miles whispered to her. He and Aaron were standing with her, the Sumners' supposed protection detail.

"They can probably sense he's crazier than they are." She whispered back. It made Miles nearly laugh.

After inspection of the stallions, they were loaded into an open wagon and shown around the huge pastures of the facility full of pregnant mares that were happily grazing the Kentucky bluegrass. A few of the more sociable ones came up to the fence and would affectionately nuzzle any outstretched hand. Charlie found these animals much more appealing than the ridiculous stallions that Bass seemed to prefer. Then it was back to the barns to see the newly born foals, which even Charlie had to admit were pretty cute. Then they were ushered to the training arena to see some younger horses being worked, then more barns, more fields, more horses, on and on. The inspection stretched on for hours. Charlie was uncomfortable in her disguise and bored out of her mind, while at the same time she was nervous that they could be found out at any minute.

After lunch Bass was supposed to go look at the horses that had completed their training and were candidates for being taken to DC. Noting her waning enthusiasm for the horses, one of their guides offered to show Charlie around the old grand stands and the famous race track. So she and Aaron went with the tour guide while Miles and Bass went to pick some horses.

While she didn't love walking around in the high heeled shoes, Charlie enjoyed the tour of the famously steepled building far more than she would have enjoyed watching more horses. The stable hand that was giving them the tour had apparently worked there even before the blackout. He had lots of stories about more than just the equine athletes that had competed there. The annual Derby had been a hotbed for celebrities, scandal, and gossip. While the race track grounds had seen its fair share of looting and damage after the blackout, the people of rural Kentucky had been able to adapt to life without power better than most, and managed to keep up the track and nearly restore it as a point of local pride. As the guide showed them around the exclusive area that had been the reserved suites where the owners of the best horses had viewed the races, Charlie couldn't help but notice Aaron staring wistfully at one of them. A small placard by the door read "Reserved A. Pittman". He'd owned a huge plane, of course he'd owned racehorses, Charlie mused.

They returned to the group in time to see Bass putting the last of the horses through its paces. He'd changed from the slacks into jeans and boots and sat astride an enormous dark grey dappled stallion with white markings up to the knee on two of its legs, and a white blaze down the center of its face. The animal seemed to float as they trotted around the arena, its neck arched and ears alert. Horse and rider moved like a single unit, and even Charlie could understand the beauty of it. Seeing Charlie's return, Bass urged the horse forward into a canter with a slight shift of his weight in the saddle and nudge from his heels on the horse's flanks. Charlie could feel the strike of each hoof through the ground as they thundered towards her. Only feet from the railing where she stood, he reined the horse in and it came to a fluid, complete stop on command right at the rail in front of her. She found herself nearly breathless, it was so impressive. She had to tilt her head back to see his face and he was, of course, smirking at her. Then he turned to Miles and gave him a look that seemed to say "Can I keep it, please?" Miles rolled his eyes.

The farm manager walked around and joined them. "So what do you think? I told you I saved the best for last."

Bass dismounted and ran a hand along the horse's neck. He patted its immensely muscled shoulder as the groom approached and took the reins from him. He appeared to have real reverence for the animal. "I'll take him."

"I figured you would." The Billy smiled. "Any idea yet as to which of the others?"

Bass seemed to contemplate for just a moment before replying, "The four quarter horse geldings, the Dutch Warmblood mare, the Seattle Slew colt, the three Appendix mares, the bay and the black grade geldings, the Fresian cross, and the two spotted drafts."

Billy smiled. "Easy enough then. Excellent choices." He extended his hand to Bass and they shook. "We'll have them at the rail yard first thing in the morning. The train should be loaded and ready to leave by ten."

"Excellent." Bass nodded, looking official.

"Now that we're done with business," The farm manager put a hand on Bass's shoulder and they started walking away from the arena and toward the farm entrance, "I've got rooms for your men at the boarding house, but I was hoping that you and your wife would be my personal guests tonight. My wife Leanne has planned a fine meal, complete with her absolutely famous pecan pie, and I assure you that our guest room has far better appointments than what you'll find in town."

Charlie, Miles, and Aaron were following behind the other two men. Miles and Aaron were attempting to listen in on Bass's conversation with the Patriot equestrian, but Charlie found the way Bass's low slung and faded jeans were hugging his backside as he walked in front of her to be far more interesting. What? They were supposed to be married. She was allowed to look.

Once they had returned to where Rachel had been waiting with their wagon, Bass broke the news that they would be splitting up for the night. Miles and Rachel had both instantly objected to the idea, but Miles was quickly swayed by the potential intel that could be gained by having access to the mid-level Patriot's house. Rachel, who still objected wholly to her daughter even pretending to be Sebastian Monroe's wife, was not about to let her spend the night alone with him in a Patriot's house. A small family drama ensued, but ultimately Miles had the final say, and he agreed that the potential benefits far outweighed the risks.

They drove the wagon around to the Jackson's large plantation style home on the edge of the farm property. Bass and Charlie's luggage, which had really been the belongings of the true Sumners, was collected and taken into the house by an assistant. Bass and Charlie brusquely dismissed the others, having to keep up the appearance that Miles, Rachel, and Aaron were simply Patriot guards randomly assigned to protect the couple on their travels and assist with the horses. Then the happy newlyweds entered the large house arm in arm.

By the time they were half way through dinner, Bass and Charlie had both realized that their plans for extracting information out of the Jacksons or finding important intel by snooping around the house after dark were horribly ill-conceived. Despite running a Patriot facility, they operated more as independent contractors. They raised and trained horses that just happened to be used by the Patriots. They'd raised and trained horses for Georgia before that. Hell, before the blackout they'd raised and trained horses for rich people with disposable income. They knew nothing and no one bothered to keep them in the loop of anything involving Patriot Command decisions. Their only real interactions with Patriot Command were this annual inspection and occasional orders for more horses to be sent with whatever cavalry unit commander that appeared with the proper documentation. It was not the hotbed of Patriot intel they had hoped for. Also, all the little older couple wanted to talk about at dinner was horses. Occasionally the weather was brought up, but then it was related to hay harvesting and then back to the horses. The food, however, had actually been quite good. That fact was probably the only thing that kept Charlie from stabbing her salad fork into her eye socket as a form of distraction.

Once dinner was finished they all retired early since they would have to be up early to arrange the horse shipment in the morning. Mrs. Jackson showed them to the extra bedroom they would be staying in. As they walked down the carpet lined hallway, Charlie considered that since they wouldn't be spending the night scouring the house for Patriot secrets, at least they would get a decent night's sleep. Then their host opened the door to their bedroom.

Shit. Charlie had to actively work to keep the epithet from escaping her mouth. There was only one bed. Bass graciously thanked their hosts and shoved Charlie into the room. He closed the door behind them and could tell she was about to fly into a rant. He immediately put a finger to his lips indicating that it was not yet safe to speak freely. They heard Leanne's footsteps shuffle down the hallway and trail off before he removed the finger from his lips.

"One bed? You have got to be kidding!" Charlie whisper yelled at him.

"This isn't some sixties sitcom." He shot back. "Man and wife do usually sleep in the same bed."

Charlie knew he was right, should have expected this, but even if the thought had crossed her mind earlier, she had thought they'd be investigating tonight, not sleeping. This whole night was a disaster. If they'd just gone to the boarding house with her family, they would have still had to share a room, but there would have likely been a couch in the room or another piece of furniture preventing the awkward sharing of the bed that now terrified her.

Seeing that she was still paralyzed with a combination of anxiety and rage, Bass rolled his eyes. "Get a grip, Charlotte. It's a big bed. There have probably been plenty of nights in camp where your bed roll was closer to mine than we'll be tonight, and I _somehow_ managed to never take advantage of you then."

The only reply she could give him was a sneer. That wasn't what she was worried about. Was it? Honestly, she knew he wouldn't try anything, if for no other reason than that both Miles and her mother would literally kill him. So why did having to share the bed with him bother her so much? She'd begrudgingly accepted his proximity while she slept more than six months ago at this point. At first there had been something horribly disconcerting about being shaken awake out of a nightmare, only to open your eyes and find that the exact subject of said nightmare was the one that had woken you. It had been difficult to even fall asleep those first few nights on the road to Willoughby with him, knowing that the precise man they use to leave someone on watch to look out for was now the one looking over her. But with time, the irony of the situation lost most of its impact. Now he was the one in their group that she ended up spending most of her time with and she really did trust him, if she was being honest with herself. That only left… did she not trust _herself _to share the bed with him? That was ridiculous.

Then as if reading her thoughts he took a step toward her and joked, "Should I be worried that you're going to attempt to take advantage of me?"

She rolled her eyes and shoved his chest. "In your dreams." She said it with a smile. Having returned to their normal state of teasing and sarcasm, she suddenly felt much better about the situation. Maybe she just wasn't cut out for undercover work.

Charlie started rummaging through the steamer trunk of the former Abigail Sumner, looking for something to sleep in, as Bass pulled off his boots and started unbuttoning his shirt. "There's nothing in here but dresses, shoes, and lacy underwear. What did she plan to sleep in?" She looked to Bass, confused.

"They were newlyweds." He supplied as if that should have been enough of an answer. When she didn't seem any closer to putting it together, he raised an eyebrow at her.

"Oh." She said with understanding, then it really sunk in, "Oh! But what am _I_ supposed to…" The fact that he was now removing his shirt didn't help her horror.

Bass finished pulling off the button up shirt and tossed it to her. She was small enough and it was large enough that it should cover everything that needed to be covered.

"Thanks." She said somewhat sheepishly.

"Yeah. Well, I don't like the idea of having to share a bed with you wearing nothing but those lacy underwear any more than you do."

"Afraid you wouldn't be able to stop yourself from taking advantage of me in this." She joked and pulled a sheer black lace bra and matching thong with garter belt from the trunk and tossed them at him.

He laughed and threw them back at her, but he turned away and swallowed hard. His brain immediately jumped to trying to picture her in the get up, and he became fairly certain that he would in fact have a hard time not doing something stupid if she crawled into bed with him wearing that. Then he looked back at her and his mental image of a lingerie clad succubus was replaced by that of the helpless child in front of him turning and contorting her shoulder trying to reach the zipper at the back of the dress. He was used to watching her decapitate men in battle. Seeing her be continually bested by couture throughout the day was kind of adorable.

Charlie clawed at her back. If she could just reach a little higher she could reach the zipper and be out of this horrible excuse for clothing, but it was like someone had intentionally put the damn thing just out of reach. She was pretty sure she was about to dislocate her own shoulder, but it would be a small price to pay to be rid of the cursed dress. Then suddenly there were hands on her shoulders. She froze.

"Allow me." He nearly whispered it into her ear. Then he tugged the zipper about half way down her back to where she could easily reach it herself. He stopped there, knowing that if he unzipped it all the way she would probably read too much into the assistance. He was about to step back and away from her, but his eyes caught on the soft skin where the back of her neck met her shoulder that was now exposed by the gap from the open zipper. He subconsciously traced his tongue over his cracked lips as he fought back the instinctual urge to softly kiss the area of exposed skin.

"Uh, thanks. Think I got it from here."

That broke him out of whatever unbidden headspace he'd fallen into and he stepped away quickly. "Yeah. You're welcome." He almost coughed.

He pointedly walked to the far side of the room and turned away, giving her whatever privacy he could to get changed. What the hell was happening to him tonight? Maybe she'd been right to be nervous about sharing a bed with him. Sure, it had been a while since he'd gotten any, but that was no excuse. When he tried calculating how long ago it actually was that he'd last gotten laid, he found the number rather horrifying. This just may be a recipe for disaster. Take prolonged unintentional abstinence, mix with a bed, add one of the few people on this sad planet that he would actually admit to caring about (even if it was just in the protective big brother kind of way), and throw in a sprinkling of naughty lingerie, and maybe his current predicament didn't seem so far-fetched. Fuck if he didn't really hate the Patriots in this moment. He didn't know exactly how or why this was their fault, but he was sure that it was.

"Dibs on the right side."

Her voice brought him out of his disturbing musings. He turned and saw her walking toward the bed in nothing but his shirt. It stopped about halfway down her thighs and the sleeves came to the tips of her fingers. Her hair was down and the contrast of the white shirt against her tan skin made the sparkling blue of her eyes stand out that much more. Shit. She looked sexy as hell. There was no other way to describe it.

Taking his stunned look as confusion, she tried again, "I call dibs on the right side… of the bed… for sleeping… unless you really want it… or whatever…" His lack of response made her suddenly feel uncertain of herself.

He had to physically shake his head to jump start his brain back to conscious thought and speech. "No… whatever… that's fine."

"Way to play it cool, Monroe." She smirked at him as she climbed under the covers.

"Shut up, Charlotte." He attempted to force the immature sibling dynamic they had spent the last six months perfecting back into place. It didn't work.

They both spent the first few hours too awkwardly aware of the other's presence to sleep, but too embarrassed to actually acknowledge each other. One time when Charlie tried rolling onto her stomach, the movement caused her foot to unintentionally graze his calf, and he nearly shot out of the bed.

"Seriously?" She asked groggily. "I'm still not planning on accosting you while you're unconscious. Calm down and go to sleep."

"You first." He grumbled.

She wasn't sure what was keeping him awake, but she knew why she couldn't fall asleep. Every time she closed her eyes she felt his breath on the bare skin at the back of her neck after he had unzipped her dress. Then there was also the way he'd looked standing there in nothing but those impossibly flattering jeans as she'd gotten into the bed. Sure, living and fighting together for the last six months, it wasn't the first time she'd seen him shirtless, but this time he wasn't filthy, bloody, or injured. He was just standing there with his jeans riding low on his hips and every defined muscle of his chest and abdomen looking like some skilled sculptor had chiseled them out of marble. He looked sexy. Shit. She was not supposed to find her former nemesis turned suspicious ally and unlikely friend sexy. In that instant, with the way his blue eyes seemed to pierce right through her, she had wanted to run her fingers through the curls at the base of his scalp and feel his freshly trimmed facial hair rubbing roughly against her skin. Instead she'd made some lame comment about what side of the bed she wanted to sleep on.

A glance in his direction showed him still anxiously rigid lying next to her. They were never going to get any sleep if they were this nervous around each other. In utter frustration, Charlie finally gave in. She scooted over until she was slightly encroaching on his side of the bed and pressed her shoulder flush against his.

The move surprised him and he looked at her with confusion and terror in his eyes.

"Look. We both know nothing's going to happen. If we're already touching, maybe you can stop freaking out worrying that we're going to accidentally touch in the night."

He just scowled at her, but didn't make any move to get away from her, and she could tell that he relaxed slightly. She didn't really care, because her idea actually worked. Within a few minutes they were both asleep, each lying on their backs with her right shoulder up against his left.

Bass woke to the subtle noises of the house's other occupants waking and starting their day on the floor below them. As his mind crawled back into consciousness, he began to register something very, very bad. Apparently Charlie's suggestion to let their arms innocently touch for the night had become less of a cure to their sexual tension and more of a gateway drug once they were asleep. To say that they were no longer in the same positions as when they fell asleep was a bit of an understatement.

He was too terrified to move, for fear of waking her, as he took stock of their position. They were now lying on their sides wrapped up in each other to an extent that Bass could barely tell where one of them ended and the other began. His chin was on top of her head, and her face was buried in his chest. Her shirt had ridden up during the night, undoubtedly helped by his hand that was underneath it and resting on the soft skin between her shoulder blades. It now threatened to expose her breasts if it rode any higher, and already completely exposed everything below that. Since he was shirtless, it caused an abundance of skin-on-skin contact. His other hand was resting half on her lower back and half on the lacey underwear she'd worn under his shirt. His only consolation was that at least she'd chosen a pair that wasn't a thong. Not that it made him any less culpable for the predicament they were in, but he was not the only one whose body had made transgressions during the night. Her hands were currently cupping his ass and knotted in the hair at the back of his skull. Their legs were a tangled mess and one of her bare thighs was up around his hip. And of course he had an erection so hard it was nearly painful where it fought the fabric of his jeans and pressed into her inner thigh. Fan-fuckin'-tastic. The only way this could get any better was if… No way. No. Way. Even his luck wasn't this bad.

Charlie took a deep breath and he could feel her eyelashes flutter open against his bare chest. She'd started to stretch her muscles, but suddenly froze as they registered their condition. He gave her a moment to take the same inventory he had.

She slowly moved her head back until she could look up at his face and meet his gaze. She looked mortified.

He realized that there were only two ways to deal with the situation… ok, there were actually three ways, but tearing off the scant remaining clothing and pounding her into the mattress wasn't _really_ an option. They could either overanalyze this and get awkward and uncomfortable with each other for the foreseeable future, or they could appreciate the absurdity of it and laugh it off. He held her gaze and calmly stated, "I believe you were the one that promised not to molest me in my sleep. This is your fault."

He didn't think it was possible, but her facial expression dropped even further. Then he let a giant toothy smile cross his face and began to laugh at her. He slowly removed his hands from where they had been resting and pulled the sides of her shirt down so that it covered a more appropriate amount of flesh. She still hadn't moved. He just continued to laugh at her and attempted to extract his legs from hers. "It's ok, Charlotte. We were asleep. We didn't do this on purpose."

She still looked disbelieving, but it was better than the abject horror that had been in her eyes the moment before. She removed her hands from his hair and ass and started to slowly slide her thigh down from over his hip.

The problem with that was it meant she was slowly sliding her leg down the length of his barely restrained hard on. He sucked in a gasp of air and then had to bite his lower lip to the point of drawing blood to keep the gratuitous moan at the back of his throat from escaping. When his eyes were able to focus again, he noticed the look on her face had changed profoundly. She was smirking at him.

"Sorry. Didn't do that on purpose." She parroted his earlier statement, her voice suggesting that she was not actually sorry in the slightest.

"Thanks." He sneered at her as they finally rolled apart. He made it abundantly obvious when he stuck his hand down his pants and adjusted himself before rolling out of the bed.

She snickered as she pulled her shirt down to cover herself and got out of the bed on her own side. She found it a little weird that she wasn't more bothered by the situation, but she'd given up trying to classify her interactions with Monroe a while ago. She'd never say it out loud, but she had started to think of him as her friend. Her age inappropriate, mentally unstable, promiscuous, homicidal friend that shared an unhealthy lifelong history with her uncle, had held her mother captive, and whom she'd tried to kill on multiple occasions. Adding the fact that sleeping in her arms gave him a boner to the description really just seemed like adding a drop of water to the ocean at this point.

They both rummaged through their alter egos' belongings and dressed for the day, backs to each other. When they finally turned to face one another, Charlie was pissed. She failed to understand why he got to wear khaki pants and a cotton button up shirt, while she was stuck in another uncomfortable confining dress and high heeled shoes. It wasn't fair. If there was any trouble, she would be all but useless in this get-up. And _again_ with the stupid zipper she couldn't manage by herself!

"You going to bite my hand off if I try to help you with that?" He said with a cautious smile and gestured at the zipper.

"Maybe."

He smiled and zipped her up anyway. "I like to live dangerously."

"Oh, there'll be plenty of danger for you when I tell Miles about last night." She said teasingly.

"You mean the part where you came onto me and I completely controlled myself." He smirked at her and she acted scandalized.

"Or maybe we could just never speak of this again."

"Much better plan." He smiled as he pulled on his boots.

Now fully dressed, he stood at the doorway and held his forearm out to the side for her to take. She brushed past, shoving his arm back at him and reached for the doorknob. He jammed a foot against the door so she was unable to open it. She looked back at him and gave an exasperated huff.

He extended his arm again. "Now be a good wife, and obey your husband."

"I remember specifically not agreeing to the obey part."

"Do it anyway."

"Make me."

"I could."

"Try it."

"Don't tempt me."

"You wouldn't."

"You have no idea what I would or wouldn't do to you." His eyes took on a predatory gleam.

They held tense eye contact and let the threat hang in the air for a moment before she replied, "Miles would kill you."

"For grabbing your arm and making you walk downstairs with me?" Now he just looked confused.

"Oh." She startled. "Not what I thought you were implying."

"What did you think I was implying?"

"… Something else."

"Like what? Death and dismemberment?" He seemed curious now.

"While that's not entirely outside the realm of possibility knowing you, that's not really it either." She yielded and took his arm. "Can we just go down to breakfast now?"

He noticed a slight blush creeping across her cheeks, so he kept his foot firmly wedged against the door. "Oh my god. You took it to the dirty place!"

"Stop projecting your gutter mind onto me." She tugged at the doorknob with her free hand in a vain attempt to escape the conversation.

"You did. You were thinking about sex. With me." He both looked and sounded astonished.

"Did not. Was not. And in your dreams."

"And apparently in yours."

Charlie considered throwing herself out the second story window at that point to end the humiliating conversation. He was always making dirty insinuations and double entendre. The one time she misjudged his intentions, and he had to call her on it. And after the way they had woken up together. What the hell was his problem this morning?

"Remember when we used to just try and kill each other? Can we go back to that?" She growled at him.

"But this has just become so much more interesting."

Fine. Two could play this game. She released her grip on his forearm and let her nails gently trace down to his wrist as she turned and positioned herself between him and the door. She put her back flat against the wooden door and started to trail the toe of her shoe up the inside of his leg that was holding the door shut. "Like you've never thought about it…"

He recoiled at her boldness. "I…" Words failed him.

She felt him shift his posture and move back a step from the door. As he attempted to mutter something incoherent, she seized her opportunity. She grabbed the doorknob, twisted, and pulled. She was able to get the door open just wide enough to duck into the hallway. A second later he stumbled out after her. She smiled triumphantly at him and held out her arm. He took it and they walked down to breakfast arm in arm.

Charlie's victorious smirk still hadn't left her face when they arrived downstairs to a kitchen that smelled like heaven. Mrs. Jackson was just taking the last skillet of bacon off the wood burning stove and doling it out onto plates. Billy had been seated at the head of the table, but stood upon their entrance.

"Well I hope you two slept well last night. Big day today." Their host smiled at them as Bass pulled out a seat for Charlie and she politely sat in it. As Bass walked past the older man to get to his seat on the other side of the table, he added, "My Leanne and I have been married thirty-seven years come this October, so I happen to know a thing or two about the subject of marriage. And son, I just want to tell you that when a woman walks out of her husband's bedroom looking that damn pleased with herself, you are doing something very right."

Charlie aspirated the sip of orange juice she had been in the middle of drinking and fell into a coughing fit, as Bass had to bite the inside of his lip again to keep from outright laughing. If only that poor man had any idea what had really happened.

The remainder of breakfast had been uneventful and the horses were all ridden or lead to the nearby train depot. It was there that Rachel, Miles, and Aaron reappeared, and the group reformed. They had to keep the greetings to a minimum to stay in character.

Charlie stood near the loading platform with Miles just behind her. Bass had insisted on helping when one of the horses had become violently averse to the idea of walking up the plank into the train car. They both appeared to be watching him as Miles quietly asked, "Find anything last night."

Charlie whispered back over her shoulder without turning her head, "Nothing. They were useless."

Then after a beat, Miles asked, "Bass behave himself?"

"No less than usual." The smile in her voice made Miles cock his head, but Charlie didn't turn to face him, so he couldn't read her expression.


	3. Fire and Gasoline

**Fire and Gasoline**

Between the scheduled stops at other train depots and the unscheduled stops that happened every time they found a fallen tree or stray herd of cattle on the train tracks, it took the steam engine two days to cover the six hundred miles between Louisville and DC.

As they neared the final few hours of their journey, Charlie was an antsy, unhappy ball of nerves. Forty eight hours of subterfuge in the restricted environment of the train was driving her insane. She was physically uncomfortable all the time in her high fashion disguise. She didn't understand why women would ever chose to wear such ridiculous outfits. Then it was the constant keeping up of appearances when they were in the public train cars to eat or put in the requisite amount of socializing that was required to keep their cover. Bass managed to seem amiable and charismatic with all the other occupants of the train with no obvious effort. Charlie, on the other hand had to keep a continual running loop of commands to herself playing in her head.

"Smile. Touch his arm. Smile. Laugh politely. Smile. Breathe. Smile." Repeated over and over in her mind.

The only time they could drop the act was when they retreated to their sleeping quarters. Fortunately Patriot command had put them up in a private berth, and their cover of newlyweds gave them a decent enough excuse to escape to the secluded area rather frequently. Though even these moments of relief weren't stress free. Their personal berth was still only the size of an outhouse, so she and Bass were constantly literally on top of each other. She knew logically that they had spent the last few months almost never out of the other's line of sight. Constant close proximity to him wasn't anything new, but having the tangible barriers of walls all around them gave everything a claustrophobic feel and elevated the amount they naturally irritated each other.

It was an unspoken agreement that they split watch overnight. It got more dangerous the closer they got to DC, and it was only reasonable that they should not let their guard down. At least that was the excuse they gave when her family asked. Really it was just an excellent excuse for them to not have to attempt to occupy the same small sleeping bunk at the same time. Neither wanted a repeat of the previous morning.

Despite Charlie's rising level of annoyance with the man when they were awake, she had to admit that the frustration faded when he was asleep. He rarely slept well when he was sober. It was something she'd first noticed when they had travelled to Willoughby together. As she and the rebels had battled the Militia the year before, she'd often wondered how he could sleep at night after all the atrocities he had committed. When she realized that he did not in fact sleep soundly, that his deeds did plague him in his dreams, it had triggered the first little inkling in her mind that maybe there was some part of him that could come back from this. Maybe there was still a decent man in there somewhere. Now she sat in the small set of chairs on the wall opposite the bunk watching the night speed past the window as he slept. She turned to watch as he began to thrash under the blanket and mumble slightly before stilling again. Was it wrong to find someone's nightmares endearing?

An hour or so later, Bass startled himself out of an unpleasant dream and into a panicked wakeful state. His eyes darted around and, recognizing his surroundings, he relaxed. He rolled over to see Charlotte watching the sun rise over the Virginia countryside through the train car's little window. She was sitting indian style in the chair, wearing only the white button up shirt he'd lent her that first night. The first warm hints of sunlight were streaming in through the window and catching the long waves of dark blonde hair spilling over her shoulders. She looked angelic. But he knew that looks were deceiving. He'd seen that little angel kill dozens of men in battle without hesitation. But she did still have this optimism about her. Despite living in the same f'ed up word as the rest of them, whatever piece of their souls that had broken in him, in Miles, her mother, basically everyone around her, it still seemed to be intact for her. He really hoped it stayed that way. As his Militia had warred against Miles and the rebels, he'd never quite understood what it was that had driven his friend to fight back after the years of seclusion and avoidance. He didn't have to spend much time with Charlotte before he understood. There were some kinds of things left that were worth fighting for.

"Staring's kind of creepy." Her voice broke his musings.

"Then maybe you should try wearing some pants." He arched an eyebrow at her.

He'd expected her to blush and give up the battle of words, as she usually would any time he interjected innuendo into their bickering, but instead she smiled and politely asked, "Do you need me to give you a few minutes alone to… work yourself out of this pervy state of mind you've been in lately?"

"Would you?" He asked optimistically.

"Ew. Gross. No." She stood and smacked his head playfully as she walked over to her trunk of uncomfortable bondage gear, also known as designer dresses.

He climbed out of the tiny bunk and stretched before turning to his own luggage. At least she seemed to be in a good mood this morning. Maybe it was the realization that they would be arriving at their destination soon, and she wouldn't have to keep up the uncomfortable charade of being his eager young wife anymore. He was surprised at the way she seemed to have easily accepted him into her family by the time they had reached Willoughby. Then he was even more surprised when they'd settled into the odd almost friendly sibling-like dynamic. However she had compartmentalized things in her mind to be able to befriend him for the sake of their shared goal of defeating the Patriots, this little rouse had to be pushing the limits of that.

He'd just pulled on his pants when she blurted out casually, "Hey. Would you do me?"

The words hit him like a ton of bricks and he almost caught himself in the zipper as he tried to finish securing his pants. When he turned, she was standing with her back to him, her face turned looking back over her shoulder, her dress in place but unzipped. Oh. She meant the zipper. "We're gonna need to work on your word choice." He smiled at her as his slid the zipper up her back.

"Or, you know, get you neutered." She rolled her eyes.

He had a really good comeback about being surrounded by bitches in heat, but he doubted it would help in preserving her good mood, so he bit his tongue.

They'd learned to eat early and avoid the most heavily populated times in the dining car. Charlie still occasionally had trouble remembering the details of their cover story. She still didn't see why it mattered if she had supposedly grown up in Kansas City, Kansas or Kansas City, Missouri. In just over two hours they'd be off this train and never see any of these people again. She'd also realized that when you dressed like a vapid piece of arm candy, people treated you like a vapid piece of arm candy. Bass would get into all sorts of discussions about finance and politics, and while it was a little humorous listening to him discuss the pitfalls of a totalitarian regime in third person, Charlie was a little offended that all anyone ever asked her about was her wedding and her shoes.

They pardoned themselves from the table early, Bass giving the excuse of having to check on the horses before arrival in DC. Charlie returned to their quarters while Bass made his way to the freight cars and checked in with Miles and the others.

From the tone of the letters, they doubted that anyone at the station beyond Commander Allenford himself would recognize Bass and Charlie as imposters, but it was important that they not linger just in case.

The train pulled into the station, and Bass quickly took command of the small group of soldiers that had been sent to oversee the transfer of the horses. He picked out the one that appeared the most nervous and distracted, and thus the least likely to remember any details of their interaction. Bass handed a sealed letter to the young soldier, gave him instructions, and he disappeared into the crowd. Then he and the others quickly moved into a vacant stable nearby.

There had been a small amount of concern that Aaron's penmanship in Arabic was not quite as good as his ability to translate it, but he had assured them that the letter Bass had given to the courier would appear to be an official order from Commander Allenford requesting Neville's presence at the stable to oversee delivery of the new cavalry stock. That or it said some really awful things about his mother's goat.

The letter must have proven legible after all, because about twenty minutes later Tom Neville was striding toward the empty stall door that Miles was leaning against in the unoccupied barn. His agitation at being assigned a menial task quickly morphed as he realized the deception playing out before his eyes.

"As I live and breathe. Miles Matheson."

"Good to see you again, Tom. Patriots been treating you well?"

"They've come to appreciate my talents."

"Good times then?"

"Oh indeed."

Both men eyed each other cautiously before Miles decided to proceed. "We've known each other for a long time, Tom. You're a lot of things, but you're no fool. You know they aren't on the up and up."

"What sort of imbecile do you take me for?"

"Figured you were working from the inside."

Neville's calm and metered voice suddenly became angry. "Of course I've been working them from the inside. You think I suddenly forgot what that Flynn character pulled? They tried to turn my own flesh and blood against me for Christ sake."

"Well, that's what we were hoping to hear. We're here to help you stop them."

"Please tell me that 'we' includes more than just your in-laws and the fat man, or else this is going to be one poor excuse for a revolution. These people are trained, well-supplied, and brutal. This isn't like going against the Militia. One little blonde girl with a cross bow is not going to unravel these bastards." Tom paused for a moment before continuing, "Speaking of the Militia, word travels fast out of Texas. So sorry to hear about your boyfriend." He sneered at Miles.

"Not as sorry as you're gonna be." Bass lunged out of the shadows of the adjacent stall, Charlie pulling at his shoulder to restrain him.

"Remember you need him." She urged.

For a moment Neville did look like he'd seen a ghost, but he recovered quickly. "I should have guessed. I knew the way they said it went down so smoothly sounded a bit hinky."

"Well, they don't know that it didn't." Miles stepped into Neville's personal space. "And we'd like to keep it that way."

"I certainly won't be the one to tell them. I'd like to keep the trust I've worked so hard earn from them. Avoid a 'kill the messenger' scenario."

Bass seemed to calm and stepped back again.

Miles sighed. "So then we're in agreement? You keep working them from the inside, we'll come at them from the outside."

Tom laughed. "You and what army?"

"Now that we're here, we'll set up a camp nearby, start recruiting rebels." Even as Miles said it, he realized how weak the idea was.

"Say you could keep a camp undetected. Say you did manage to avoid their spies and keep any undercover operatives out of your ranks. Say you even managed to get your hands on some weapons. How long would it take you to get the numbers you will need to really go up against them? We're talking thousands of well-armed, well trained men. It's never going to happen."

"We did it once." Monroe shot back.

"Yes. And remind me again how that worked out for you two?" Neville sneered. "We don't have a decade for you to develop an army, and that's even if we're assuming that anyone would follow _you_ again." The glare was directed at Bass. "_We_ know that Randall Flynn was behind the nukes, but outside the handful of us from the Tower that night, they all think it was you."

"So, Tom, what are you suggesting we do? Give up?" Miles knew there was truth behind what Neville was saying.

"Not at all. I'm just saying that we need to be smart about this. Though I know that might prove difficult for you."

This time it was Bass having to restrain Charlie from wiping the sneer off of Neville's face with her fist.

Neville appeared rather unfazed. "We don't have much time. Philly and Atlanta were just the beginning. They have something big planned, and I don't know what it is, but it's happening in months not years."

"We can't just make an army appear out of thin air." Miles sounded exasperated.

Neville smiled at them again. "There's a war clan in West Virginia. Run by a woman, of all things. They've been fighting the Patriots tooth and nail clear from South Dakota. They've got numbers, and they've got a profound hatred for the new U S of A. You start working with them, get them better organized, that could be your army."

"That's actually not a bad idea." Miles ceded.

"Of course it's not. It was mine." Tom puffed himself up a bit. "But more importantly, you need to ditch everyone's new bestest buddy first." Neville looked back and forth between Miles and Bass. "You're not in Kansas anymore. This is the east coast, and people here will recognize him. Until you sway public opinion about the nukes, you will never get anywhere with him at your side."

Miles shifted uncomfortably. He could feel Charlie beside him, preparing to violently object. What he hadn't expected was Bass to speak up.

"Fine. I'll go." He sounded completely rational, and it scared Miles. "But I need something from you, Tom, before I do."

"What makes you think I'd give you anything?"

"All I want is information."

Neville still cocked an eyebrow at him.

"I've got a son." At Bass's admission, a short flutter of out of place emotions played across Neville's face. Bass seemed to realized Tom's confusion and continued, "From before the blackout. I didn't find out about him until not too long ago. I finally found him, and he's been through one of the re-programming camps. I'm here because a letter from Patriot command said your boy was too, but that you got through to him, fixed what they messed up. I need to know how."

Charlie was shocked when Neville nodded in agreement and began to tell Bass about how he'd found Jason and what it had taken to break the effects of the drugs and mind games. She realized that neither Miles nor Bass seemed that surprised at his sudden change of mood and willingness to supply this information. She wondered what experience the three men had obviously shared to make them be willing to instantly call a momentary truce.

Tom also explained what he'd learned about the Patriot's reprogramming process and their techniques since he'd arrived in Washington. Command had decided that Jason was a fluke and allowed him to remain with Tom, but neither of the Neville men were convinced that the process couldn't be repeated on others.

After Tom and Bass finished their discussion, Miles asked, "So this war clan. Where do we find them?"

"Just head toward West Virginia. Don't worry. They'll find you." Tom smiled.

"How do we keep in touch? I don't assume you have a running dialogue with them." Miles asked, already feeling that the answer would be unpleasant.

"My boy's patrol goes near the edge of their territory once a month. He'll make contact. You trust no one but him. You understand? These Patriots have eyes and ears everywhere."

"We're well aware of that." It was Rachel that had spoken this time. "Thank you, Tom. Glad to see you're well. Give my best to Julia." She seemed uncharacteristically formal as she ushered their meeting to a close.

"You as well, Mrs. Matheson. How nice to see that at least one of you has maintained some sort of manners." Tom looked smug as he turned and exited the stable.

They all looked to Miles in the silence that followed.

"He's right about one thing. Too big a chance we'll be recognized on the street. We need to get somewhere out of sight." It was the best Miles could do in the moment. "Split up. Stay low. We meet at the bar in two hours."

They all nodded in agreement. Miles stalked off by himself. Rachel went with Aaron since they were still both dressed in uniforms. That left Charlie and Bass together again, as always.

"Do you ever wish that just once you'd get stuck with someone else when we all split up?" She sighed sarcastically as she looked over at him. It was the one benefit of the heels. They drastically decreased the height difference between them.

He looked at Aaron and Rachel as they disappeared into a sea of tan uniforms on the nearby street before turning to look at Charlie. "No." He sounded honest and shrugged his shoulders at her. "But don't worry. Looks like I won't be your problem much longer."

She'd forgotten. More like blocked it from her mind. He was leaving them to try to save Connor, so that they could stop the Patriots. She realized how important both of those missions were, but somehow, the only part of that sentence that made her feel anything was the part about him leaving.

"Why don't we go get a late lunch?" He offered to fill the silence that was stretching out awkwardly between them.

"Yeah. Sure."

They walked down the street arm in arm. Neither really suspected that they needed to maintain their cover anymore. It had just somehow become habit.

They ate at a little café with seating out along the sidewalk near what had once been DuPont Circle. They hadn't made it halfway through their meal before Charlotte was obviously alarmed.

"That's the fourth guy I've seen staring at us. Do you think they know who we are?" She leaned in and whispered to him.

Bass laughed. "I think it means we need to get you some new clothes."

She gave him a perplexed look, obviously not understanding his logic.

"They're not looking at us. They're looking at you."

"But why?" She still seemed worried.

"You're going to make me say it, aren't you?"

Her face was still nothing but confusion.

He sighed before he began, "Kid, you're a knockout. I'm not saying that you don't have your own kind of charm when you're in jeans and a tank top, covered in grime and blood and whatever else we always find ourselves rolling in, but you clean up nice. Real nice."

She instantly dropped her face, a rosy hue spreading across her cheeks.

Seeing that she had no intention of ever making eye contact with him again, under the table he nudged her ankle with the toe of his shoe. "C'mon. This can't be news to you. Didn't you have any girl friends growing up that you did the normal girl talk thing with?"

She shook her head, still too embarrassed to speak to him.

He kept nudging at her ankle with his foot. "You had to have had some friends?"

"Growing up, I had Danny." She mumbled to the table. "Now…" She finally lifted her eyes and met his.

It was written all over her face, as plainly as if she'd said the words aloud. Now_ he_ was the closest thing she had to a friend. And he was leaving. He felt something constrict painfully in his chest.

"Charlie, I…" he looked away from her, trying and failing to focus what he was feeling into a single coherent sentence. That was when he noticed a man in Patriot garb staring at him, then turn and say something to the soldier standing next to him. When they both looked back in his direction he knew. They'd just been made. "…I think we need to leave. Now."

"What?" The sudden change in demeanor startled her.

"Patriots. I think they recognized me. Stay calm, but get up and head for the back of the restaurant."

She did as she was instructed, moving to take his arm the second they were both standing. This time it wasn't sentimental, it was functional. If they were going to have to make a run for it, she was going to need help in these shoes.

They calmly made their way through the restaurant, ducking into the kitchen just as the two Patriots entered the front door. They began to run toward the back door amidst startled yelling from the cooks. They broke out into the alley behind the row of shops, and Bass pulled her along to their right. Three doors down they found the back door to another business propped open, and they dove in before the Patriots appeared in the alley. Luck must have been smiling down on them, because the shop they had just entered was the post-blackout equivalent of a laundromat. Bass pulled clothing from the drying racks as they ran through the unoccupied back portion of the store toward the front. They wove through the racks of clothes until they were well hidden within the rows of drip drying fabric. Then he pulled her to a stop and shoved his armful of clothing at her. She instantly turned her back to him, and he smiled as he pulled down her zipper before turning his back to her and monitoring for signs of being followed through the door they'd just come in. Back to back, he could feel her moving behind him as she slid out of the dress and he swapped his overshirt for a different one from the rack. She bent down momentarily, and he couldn't figure out what she was doing. She reached back and handed him her high heeled shoes.

"Can you do something with these?" She asked as she pulled on a pair of jeans.

He grabbed the three inch heel in one hand and the back of the shoe in the other and snapped off the stiletto. Then he repeated the motion with the other as she pulled the loose fitting Bohemian cotton blouse over her head. Sensing that she was now dressed, he turned and handed her the altered shoes. "This should work until we find something better."

She smiled back at him. "Now, if we just had some weapons."

Bass heard their Patriot tail step in through the back door at that moment.

"I think that can be arranged." He whispered into her ear before slowly starting to advance through the lines of clothes and sheets.

She followed as he dove through the wall of fabric between them and the soldiers. He plunged the broken heel of her shoe into the first Patriot's neck. By the time the second one had turned to face him, Charlie had a rolled up towel wrapped around his throat and cutting off his breath. He struggled futilely and silently for a moment before collapsing to the ground. They scavenged the bodies and each earned a knife and a pistol for their troubles. Charlie eyed the men's footwear, but realized that their boots would be far too big on her.

"I think they were alone, but we should still hide them." Bass panted as he looked up at her from where he was kneeling next to the dead body. He watched as she finished checking the chamber and the magazine of hand gun before shoving it into the back of her pants and adjusting her shirt to conceal it. Then she extended a hand down him. He took it and let her help pull him to his feet. Damn, they did make a good team.

They dragged the bodies into a corner and threw a small pile of laundry on top of them before departing cautiously into the alley they had come in from. The street was still moderately full of pedestrians when they stepped out of the alley, and they blended in rather well. They were still a bit early to meet Miles at the tavern, and after what had just happened, he didn't want to sit around and wait. Spending too long in any one place was like asking for trouble. They passed a cobbler's store as they walked toward the designated tavern and Bass sighed.

"I never did get you a wedding present." He smiled before steering them in.

About twenty minutes later they walked out, Charlie now exceptionally pleased to be in a pair of knee high lace up field boots and having said goodbye forever to the remnants of the Louboutins she had so loathed. They arrived at the bar to find Miles, Rachel, and Aaron already changed into their civilian clothes and seated around a table.

"You changed clothes?" It was Rachel's form of a greeting to her daughter as she held out her pack to her.

"Yeah. Kinda had to." Charlie replied as she took the pack and pulled up a seat at the table. She leaned in to sarcastically whisper, "It was too hard to run from the Patriots in those heels, and my new boots just didn't go with that dress."

Miles's eyes shot to Bass as he reluctantly took a seat. "Two of them made us. They followed us into the back of a store and we took 'em out. I don't think they had time to spread the word, but if you've got some cover for us, this would probably be the time to get there."

"Got us a room at the inn up the street." Miles shrugged. "The area's too well monitored. No sleeping in the open or abandoned buildings for at least a day's ride from here. It's gonna be a snug fit with all of us, but it's less conspicuous than renting out the whole damn floor." Miles slid the room key across the table to Bass. "We leave here in small groups and arrive there separately. You two first since you've already been made once today."

"Fine, but bring that bottle with you." Bass nodded at the bottle of whiskey sitting on the table. "If we're all spending the night in the same room, we're gonna need it."

Rachel raised her glass to that statement and then swallowed the rest of the liquid that had been in the glass.

Bass and Charlie then quickly left the bar. They took a circuitous route to the hotel to ensure that nobody was following them. Once they were convinced that it was safe, they went straight to the room and locked themselves inside. The first thing Charlie did was dig through her pack and retrieve her belt. It was the one thing she'd kept with her through all of this. Maggie had given it to her on her eighteenth birthday. At first it had just seemed functional, keeping her knife sheath and sword scabbard at just the right places for easy access, but after everything that they had all been through, it was the one thing that reminded her of home and family.

Bass surveyed the room. It was a classic pre-blackout style motel room – two double beds with sheets that likely hadn't been washed this decade, a shabby chair, and a dresser that looked as if it held more vermin droppings than clothing over the years. Great job Miles. They were all spending the night together in the Bates Motel. At least the sleeping arrangements would be easy enough to divide up. Girls on one bed, boys on the other, him and Miles taking turns on watch. No fuss, no muss, and no more mornings like that last one in Kentucky.

Then he remembered. He looked over at her sitting on the edge of the bed and taking inventory of her pack. He felt almost hollow inside. There would be no more mornings like the one in Kentucky because there would be no more mornings for them together at all. He tried to convince himself that he hadn't told them because he didn't want to draw out any long good byes. Really, he knew he was going to sneak out and leave them in the night because if just one of them asked him not to go, he really might stay and ruin everything for them.

He was broken out of his musings by a timid knock at the door. He and Charlie both looked to each other and drew their guns. Bass approached the door and Charlie flattened herself against the wall.

"Guys. It's me." Aaron's voice echoed through the door. They both lowered their guns and Bass peeked through the peep hole before undoing the chain and letting Aaron in. As Bass locked the door behind him, Aaron sputtered, "Miles and Rachel said they might be a while."

Charlie found the insinuation that her mother and her uncle needed some "alone time" a bit disquieting and it showed.

It was, however, Aaron to the rescue. "But I brought this." He reached into his jacket and triumphantly held out the whiskey bottle and a deck of playing cards.

"My hero." Bass smiled and said in a nasal high pitched voice as he took the bottle from Aaron, opened it, and took a swig.

Miles and Rachel arrived about an hour later to find the trio moderately inebriated and playing gin rummy.

The card playing lasted for about another hour until they were all relaxed enough that the exhaustion started to set in. It had been a long few days, and they knew that things weren't likely to get much better in the ones ahead.

Miles took the first watch as the others gradually turned in for the night. Once the lights were out and the room's occupants were asleep, he had nothing left to distract him from the thoughts he'd been avoiding for a while now. He looked over the sleeping bodies around him and sighed. He cared about each of them. This was what it all boiled down to. For now, every single thing in the world that meant something to him was in this same twelve by fifteen foot space. Soon they wouldn't be. Bass would leave in the next day or two. Miles knew the reasoning behind it, but still felt bad. Bass had come back to help them. He'd gone through an execution without giving them up. He was trying to change, and Miles had mostly blown him off to spend time with Rachel. He should have been a better friend in the time they'd had. He knew what Bass wouldn't admit. Going after Connor alone was as good as a suicide mission. That's if he could even make it to California. Miles had already had a taste of what it felt like to stand by and watch Bass march off to his doom. He'd only had to live with that pain for a night before Rachel had revealed her little secret. He wondered if the practice run would make this time more or less painful.

It would be worse this time, he realized, because it wasn't just him that would be mourning. Miles was neither stupid nor blind. He knew that Bass and Charlie had become close. It was his fault really. After Gene's death during their escape from Willoughby, he'd spent all his time worrying about Rachel, desperate to keep her from backsliding into a self-destructive form of crazy. Only when he was sure she would be ok with Aaron, did he agree to take Bass to find his son. He'd known something was up when Charlie had insisted on coming along. At first he'd worried that she'd developed some school-girl crush on Bass, but then he'd realized it was worse. While he'd been busy taking care of Rachel, they'd turned to each other in his absence and actually become friends.

Then Miles had done something really fucking selfish. He didn't do or say anything to stop it. Hell, he'd probably even encouraged it. Because when he saw them teasing, laughing, and throwing things at each other, it reminded him of the Bass from his childhood. It was the best friend that had existed before the tragedies and the wars. He had spent years trying and miserably failing to turn President Monroe back into the Bass that had been his brother. But Miles realized that whatever it was about Charlie that had brought him back from the edge, it seemed to work just as well on his deranged other half. So after the Connor debacle, he left the two of them to their own devices, even forced her to babysit the man twice her age. But it had worked. Bass survived a crushing loss of the only real family he had left without taking any long looks down the barrel of his .45 or murdering and pillaging any civilian camps. She handled Bass better than he ever had.

So he'd made no effort to protect his naïve niece that somehow found the good in everyone and wore her heart on her sleeve from the man he knew had an obsessive streak and the ability to turn off his humanity like a switch when he couldn't cope. It should have been a disaster waiting to happen. Instead they'd formed this odd little bond. It was like the rocks in one's head fit the holes in the other's.

The thing that Miles found the most peculiar about Bass and Charlie, besides the simple fact that there was a Bass and Charlie, was that neither had any clue how much they mattered to the other. It was still as if Bass was a little surprised each morning he woke up without Charlie's knife in his back, and Charlie half expected Bass to leave them high and dry whenever the going got tough. So Bass's paranoia and Charlie's abandonment issues had kept them from becoming too close in a way Miles would have had to put a stop to. Christ, that was something he did not want to think about. He knew it wasn't outside the realm of possibility, especially after the way they were looking at each other that afternoon. If it happened he would not be happy about it, but he didn't really have a right to be angry. It would be his fault for putting them together in the first place, like pouring gasoline on a fire and being surprised when it exploded in your face.

His thoughts now having completely betrayed him, Miles eyed the whiskey bottle on the nightstand and tried to decide if he could down the amount of liquid left in it and still remain functional for his watch. He reached for it. Functional was such a relative term anyway.

Some time after what Miles figured was about midnight, he put a hand on Bass's shoulder and gave a squeeze. His friend responded by slapping a poorly aimed hand at the one on his shoulder and then rolling away from the annoyance while mumbling. Miles couldn't help but smile. It was like that time in ninth grade when they were supposed to sneak out in the middle of the night to meet up with Jenny Swaderski and her really hot cousin at the park with some beer. Bass had tried drinking a couple on his own earlier in the night to work up his courage for the outing and basically passed out. Miles was barely able to wake him up in time to make the rendezvous. Yeah. They'd had some good times.

Miles grabbed his shoulder a little more forcefully this time and rolled him back toward the edge of the bed, trying to avoid waking Aaron. He whispered harshly in his ear, "Hey Bass. Get up."

Bass blinked awake and rubbed his eyes. "My turn?"

"Yup."

Bass nodded in acceptance and rolled out of the bed and onto his feet. As Miles climbed into the vacated spot beneath the covers, Bass couldn't help but notice the smile lingering on Miles's lips. "What are you so happy about?" He whispered.

"Remember Jenny Swaderski?"

After a second Bass's lips pulled into a smile as well, "And her cousin."

Miles nodded.

"Good times." Bass smiled and gave Miles's shoulder a squeeze before walking across the room to the chair by the window.

…..

It was still a couple hours before dawn, but there hadn't been a peep all night. Bass figured the group would be just fine without a sentry for a few hours. It was time to leave before he thought about it too hard and decided he couldn't. He grabbed his small pack from the corner and took one last look at the room's occupants. Aaron wouldn't find his absence any real loss. They'd merely tolerated each other. Rachel would be glad he was gone. There was just too much bad history there, but whatever she believed, he did regret it. Speaking of history together - Miles. They hadn't gone back entirely to the way they were before, but they were brothers again, and having to walk away from that was almost as painful as that one night in Philly when he'd woken to find Miles at his bedside. Damn, it was time to go. But his feet wouldn't move until he took one last look at the sleeping form of the room's last occupant. Charlotte. She was the last person on Earth that should have ever granted him forgiveness, but she had. She'd looked through the monster and found the man inside, and made sure that he did too. He'd killed for her, realized a while ago that he'd risk his own neck for her. He'd lay down his life for hers if it was needed, and that thought gave him strength because at the moment, leaving his new little family did feel kind of like dying. He took a deep breath, turned, and walked out the door.

Charlotte woke to the unsettling feeling of eyes boring into the back of her head. She remained perfectly still as she assessed the threat. Her mother was still in bed next to her. She could just barely see beyond her to confirm that the sleeping forms of her uncle and Aaron were in the next bed. She focused her senses and recognized the breathing pattern and subtle shifting of weight from the sole of one shoe to another as Bass. She relaxed and considered rolling over and making a joke about him watching her in her sleep, but then she heard him heave a sorrowful sigh and walk toward the door. He wouldn't. She then heard the doorknob slowly twist and the hinges creak open. There were a few footsteps and then it creaked back shut and the door lock mechanism reengaged. She slowly sat up in the bed and turned, confirming that he had left the room. Maybe he had just… His pack was gone too. Did that asshole really think she'd let him get away with slinking off in the middle of the night without so much as a goodbye? Stealthily, as not to wake the room's other occupants, she slid out of the bed, pulled on her boots without lacing them, grabbed the room key off the dresser, and ducked out the door after him.

She spotted him receding down the hallway. "Hey!" She yelled down after him, instantly halting his escape. She charged up to him and grabbed his shoulder, spinning him to face her. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm leaving." He tried to remain impassive, to keep his voice neutral.

"Without even saying goodbye? Like hell you are!" She shoved his chest until his back was pinned against the wall.

He looked down at her and saw the hurt and anger in her eyes. It had been a long time since he'd seen her rage directed at him. Then, like a flash, he saw a timeline of all their most notable interactions play out before his eyes. She was defiantly staring down the barrel of Strausser's gun. Her shocked face trapped under a shelving unit as he obliterated a Tower employee with a pulse gun. Her smirking at him from across an empty pool. The fear in her eyes when he showed her Rachel's bounty poster. The way she looked so small and helpless as the drugs overtook her system and she sank to the ground in the corner of that north Texas bar. The small wads of spit flinging from her lips as she called him a psychopath after he had rescued her. A thousand awkward stares and cutting words as they made their way to Willoughby together. The way she'd protectively put herself between him and her murderous family members once they'd gotten there. The look of utter desperation in her eyes when he'd been led into that courthouse, and the elation in them when he'd next caught sight of them in that little cottage outside the town walls. The way she pleaded with him to leave Connor and come with her and Miles when they were pinned down outside Albuquerque, and the way she'd rolled her eyes, dropped down at his side, and kept firing when he wouldn't abandon his son. Then he was kissing her in a small Patriot courthouse, waking up tangled in her body, and effortlessly taking out a pair of soldiers together amidst billowing sheets.

Now they were staring each other down in a motel hallway, and there were a million things he wanted to tell her. Goodbye. He was sorry. That she had saved him. What she really meant to him. But it all just sounded clichéd in his head and none of it would come out anyway. So he did the only thing that felt right in the moment. He dropped his pack to the ground, lifted his hands to cup her cheeks, lowered his head, and pulled her lips to his.

It took her a moment to switch gears in her head and realize what was happening, but then she instinctually kissed him back. It deepened immediately as their tongues began exploring each other and fighting for dominance. Her hands danced along his cheeks and then to the back of his head, pulling him further into the kiss. It was becoming more competitive and desperate, teeth dragging over lips and tongues as they both fought the need to come up for air. They needed this more.

Their hands began to trail down their bodies, exploring and simultaneously pulling them more completely against each other. Her nails clawed down his back through his shirt as his hands groped the back of her jeans. They moved together as seamlessly as they fought together, as if they were a single mind and body working toward a common goal. He ran his palms over where her ass transitioned into the back of her thighs and suddenly she was straddling his waist, legs wrapped around his hips. He turned them so that her back was against the wall, taking some of her weight so that he could move one of his hands up along her side under her shirt. She had a handful of his hair, the tight little curls feeling exactly as she'd always imagined they would sliding between her fingers, as her other hand traced the outline of his shoulder muscles under his shirt on the taught skin of his upper back. She moaned into his mouth and pulled against the hair caught between her fingers as his callused hand pushed her bra aside and grazed over her breast, his thumb rubbing a line of firm pressure over her nipple. In response he leaned into her, using the unyielding surface of the wall behind her to increase the pressure as he ground his pelvis against her. Her back and neck arched reflexively at the sensation of his erection pressing through his pants against her abdomen, and he transferred his mouth to her throat. His tongue and lips traced the cords of sinew there, as his unshorn stubble left a prickly tickling sensation in their wake.

They both knew that there was only one place this was going, and it was getting there fast. Charlie tucked her chin down, displacing his lips and forcing him to look up at her. She dropped her forehead against his and blue eyes met and held each other.

"Bass." She said his name softly, both an invitation and a plea for more.

"Charlotte?" His whisper was rough against her lips, searching desperately for permission, but still making sure she knew she had the power to stop this at any moment if she didn't want it, didn't want him.

She broke their stare to briefly take in their surroundings. The hallway was deserted in the early hour, only a few lanterns hanging from the wall at set intervals illuminating it, but it offered no privacy if anyone should happen to round the corner. She spotted an alcove a few dozen feet further up the hallway. Before she even had to think that she wanted him to release her, her feet were on the ground, and she led him by the hand to the small hiding space. Once they were hidden from easy view amidst the derelict vending machines and remnants of an ice maker, she backed up against the wall and pulled at the front of his shirt until he was flush against her again.

Their lips found their way back to each other and the driving need between them escalated. Lust clouded their minds, and their movements of flesh against flesh became needy and immediate. She slid her hands up his shirt and then let her finger tips trail lightly over his pecs, trace the indentations separating each group of abdominal muscles, and follow the contour of his obliques right down to the hem of his pants. He had one hand tangled in her hair and the other gripping at her hip as he planted kisses along her jaw line, stopping just below her ear to gently suck at the soft skin, and then rake her earlobe between his teeth. She felt his eager whimper against her ear as much as heard it when she unfastened his pants and slid her hand along his engorged penis.

His hands moved to her belt, then her button and zipper as she began to stroke him in earnest.

"Fuck, Charlotte." Spilled out wantonly from his lips as he pulled her jeans and underwear half way down her thighs in one aggressive motion.

His lips devoured hers again as he slid the first and then a second digit inside her. She was wet and pliable around his fingers, as if the last few months had all been nothing but foreplay leading to this moment. He growled eagerly against her lips as she abandoned her hold on his erection to slide his pants off his waist and down to his ankles. She groaned and called out his name in a violent whisper as she rode his hand. Then he leaned his pelvis in toward her. Bending his knees slightly to adjust for the height difference, he was positioned at her entrance. He slowly removed his fingers from her moist warmth and used the hand to adjust the angle of his shaft.

Realizing that this was it, the last chance to call this whole thing off, he broke their kiss and planted his forehead against hers. They looked at each other for a long moment, both panting, eyes never breaking contact. He felt her right hand gently stroke fingernails along the back of his neck, while her left hand traced down his shoulder and arm to meet the hand he was holding himself with. She intertwined her fingers with his, and he could feel the smooth metal of the band still on her ring finger. He gave her a soft smile as he slid his free hand through her hair and gently placed it at the back of her head, locking their faces in place. She realized immediately what he was asking, what he needed if they were really going to do this. She moved her right hand from his neck to his scalp, mimicking his gesture, and smiled softly back at him.

Foreheads touching and eyes still locked, he used their entwined hands to guide himself into her. As he slowly penetrated her, inch by glorious inch, he could see her fighting against her instinct to close her lids and roll her eyes up into the back of her skull. But she kept her eyes locked on his. For him. Once he was buried in her, he stilled, giving her sensitive tissues time to become accustomed to the intrusion. God she was tight around him. He hadn't even begun to move in her yet, and already he could feel that he was near the edge. It had been too long, for both of them. They had rarely been apart in months and they had no secrets, they both knew exactly how long it had been for the other. It was a twisted kind of intimacy that their situation had created.

He took their still entwined hands and pinned them against the wall by her head as he started to slowly withdraw from her and push back in, gaining a little more ground with each repetition. He established a rhythm and she moved to match it. Everything between them, even this, had to be a form of competition. Soon he was buried to the hilt in her, thudding into her cervix with each deep thrust. She gave a little moan with every pounding movement of their hips, and it threatened to end him. Of all the sensations that were flooding his brain at the moment, one seemingly ridiculous one kept floating to the surface and kept him from immediately losing control. Every time they moved together he could feel the metal rings on her belt digging into the flesh of his thigh. It should have been annoying, but the accessory was so uniquely her, he almost couldn't imagine the experience without it.

He released her hand and they both explored the other's body, fingers and mouths using what little time they had left to commit everything they could about each other to memory. This, their first time giving into whatever it was between them, wasn't a beginning, but rather a goodbye.

He saw the brand on her wrist sneak into his peripheral field of view as she grazed her hand along the coarse stubble on his cheek. He turned his head and kissed the marred flesh. In his mind the action was equal parts apology and reminder of how far they'd come together. The smirk on her face when he turned back to her suggested that she'd found it to be more self-aggrandizing.

"This the part where you tell me I'm already yours?" She panted out in time with their movements.

"Charlotte…" He knew she was teasing, but the thought of her being possessed by someone, let alone him, stung. She was willful and stubborn, and while those qualities had driven him nearly mad on occasion, they were such a part of who she was, that the idea of her giving that up for someone crushed him. He stilled their movements and cupped her face in his hands. "You don't belong to anyone. Never will."

At first she seemed a little concerned by the serious turn his mood had taken, but then she smiled and leaned in toward him. "And don't you forget it." She whispered it into his ear as she rolled her hips against him.

He laughed and they resumed their rhythmical movements. She was smirking again as she crashed her lips into his. At least now he had an idea how to wipe that smirk off of her face. He put a little extra force behind the next few thrusts and she suddenly had her head buried in his neck and her nails digging into his back deep enough to leave marks. It would have been his turn to look smug if the extra friction hadn't also affected him.

He let out a desperate sounding warning, "I'm close." He'd expected her to push him away, post-blackout contraception being what it was and all. Instead she pushed off the wall and shoved him back into the corner, not breaking their tempo. She ground herself harder against him and he pushed back with equal fervor. Their mouths collided again as his controlled movements degraded into frantic spasms against her. He pulled his head back at the last second, his eyes locking with hers as he let himself go. He moaned "Charlotte" before kissing her again, using her mouth to dull the gratified sounds he couldn't keep from slipping past his lips.

Charlie had already been nearly to the point of release, and his stifled cries and the feeling of warmth as he spilled himself deep inside her unraveled her. She clenched around him, wringing him out to completion as she moaned "Bass" into his mouth.

It was long moments before either was even willing to consider moving. Eventually Bass softened to the point where pulling out wasn't really even a choice any more. After that, they both pulled up their pants, and Charlie let herself slide down the wall into a sitting position, her legs suddenly feeling too unsteady to hold her. Bass plopped himself down next to her, and put his arm around her. She curled into him, resting her cheek on his shoulder as he gently kissed the top of her head. They sat silently together like that for a long while, the exhaustion just as much emotional as it was physical. They both knew that the days ahead were going to be hard and brutal on all of them, but in that moment, it was all still ok. With their luck, it might just be the last time that anything feels that way ever again, so they wanted to savor it. Once the morose thoughts about what had to come next began to filter into their minds, they began to shift. Bass stood first and extended a hand down to Charlie. She clasped onto it and he pulled her to her feet. Neither let go of the other's hand for an inappropriately long period of time, while they held eye contact.

He opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, but seemed to think better of it, and shut it. In the end, what they'd done hadn't been about anything sickeningly sentimental, like romantic love or pleasure. It was simply the only way that two broken people in a very broken world knew how to express that, despite everything, they did wholly trust each other. It had been a need, a tangible way of saying thank you and good bye to the friend they'd never expected to find, let alone lose. There was nothing he could say that was going to be better than that.

He gave her a lopsided grin as he dropped her hand. Then he pulled her into him for a last hug, which she returned with force. He chastely kissed her forehead and murmured, "I'll come back for you." It was his vow to her, more real and far more important than anything that had been said in that Kentucky courthouse.

"You always do." She whispered hopefully.

After a few more seconds, he backed out of the embrace, instantly turned and walked away. He stepped into the hallway, backtracked a bit to grab his pack from where he had dropped it earlier, and walked out of the motel and into the night.

Charlie took a deep breath and vowed not to cry as she watched him fade into the inky blackness outside. She took a minute to collect herself, ran a hand through her hair, and headed back to her family's room. She quietly unlocked the door with her key, and made every effort to close it silently behind her. She went to replace the key on the dresser when movement at the corner of her eye nearly made her jump. Miles was sitting in the chair, eyeing her.

"I take it he left?"

"Yeah." She found her own voice surprisingly calm.

"You two… get to say your goodbyes?"

"Yeah." She caught the implications in his question, but decided to be honest anyway.

He just nodded thoughtfully. "You good staying on watch if I go back to sleep?"

She nodded. To anyone else it might have sounded cold, but Charlie knew Miles. He was dealing with his friend's departure in his own way.

Miles climbed back into the bed he was sharing with Aaron. In that moment, she wanted to stop him and tell him that she got it now, that he might as well climb in with her mother and be where he really wanted to be. They never knew how much time they were going to have, and it was stupid to deny whatever small measure of comfort they could find around them. But that would have required more speaking than she felt capable of at that time point, so she let the moment pass.

She sat alone with her thoughts for the couple remaining hours before the sun began to rise. Once the slight hints of dawn played at the skyline she woke the others. Rachel and Aaron were informed of Bass's departure, to no great show of emotion on either's part. Then they dressed, took stock of what little inventory they had in their packs, and set out.

As the group walked down the hallway, only Charlie found any reason to stare thoughtfully at the corridor's innocuous appearing vending machine alcove. Her left thumb began the now habitual routine of spinning the gold band on her ring finger. A nauseating feeling of regret washed over her when she realized that she was still wearing the ring. His ring. She vowed to return it the next time she saw him. Until then, she figured that her finger was probably the safest place she could keep it. No other significance to her continuing to wear it. Nope. None whatsoever.

They stopped and picked up a few supplies before heading out of town. The constant motion of walking was familiar, and Charlie started to find herself able to focus on their new goal of meeting the West Virginian war clan as they headed through town.

That was until Charlie felt a new wave of sadness wash over her as they passed the barns where they had brought the horses just the day before. She almost couldn't bear to see the big grey stallion she'd watched Bass ride so majestically that day in Kentucky, but she forced herself to look. Except, its stall was decidedly empty. He wouldn't have. Would he? He totally did. She couldn't stop the smile from engulfing her face as she pictured Bass and his new horse. Two strikingly beautiful, testosterone fueled idiots making their way across the country together. She imagined him talking to the creature, holding one sided conversations to help pass the time, blaming it when he made a wrong turn or poor decision, explaining his elaborate plan for defeating the Patriots and world domination. She chuckled to herself, earning her a questioning glare from her sullen and silent uncle. In that moment she knew, without a doubt, what Bass had named his new pet.

…..

Meanwhile, approximately twenty miles southwest of the capital, Bass was standing on the river bank and staring at the Potomac instead of the worn remnants of I-95 that would lead him further south before turning west to head for California. He sighed and looked at the big grey horse. "Damn it Miles. I told you we were supposed to take a right at that last intersection."


	4. It's Complicated

**It's Complicated**

Neville had been right. Three days of walking in the direction of West Virginia had them suddenly surrounded by frightening looking war clansmen. Miles's attempts at diplomacy were about as effective as anyone would have expected. The clan leader, a woman named Duncan, was not impressed, and it nearly cost Miles a few very important pieces of anatomy. Rachel's pleas had finally made the sword-wielding amazon remove her blade from the vicinity of her captive's groin, but she and Rachel didn't really seem to connect. Charlie, on the other hand, was still upset about Bass's departure from the group, and her brazen sarcasm in the face of her uncle's near-castration seemed to speak to Duncan. She also seemed to find Aaron amusing, in the way that one finds a very fat cat getting stuck on its back amusing.

With Charlie allowed to speak as the group's ambassador, Duncan heard them out. At first she was entirely skeptical that this rag-tag little foursome would be able to in any way help her improve her already fairly impressive statistics when it came to battling the Patriots. But the last name of Matheson still held some clout amongst the continent's top war-makers and the ability to decode Patriot messages was something too tempting for Duncan to pass up.

They all fell into their roles within the camp quickly. Raiders were now instructed to bring back any encoded messages they could find at the posts they ransacked, and this kept Aaron busy with translations. The small amount of medical knowledge Rachel had gleaned from her father during their time in Willoughby put her in high demand as the camp nurse. Miles began working with Duncan's version of military leaders to share their knowledge of the enemy and better focus and coordinate their attack efforts. Duncan took a special interest in Charlie, taking her under her wing.

Charlie had intended to keep her family's association with the war clan strictly business, but she couldn't help starting to admire the female leader. She was a tall, muscular woman, with dark auburn hair that had only recently started to grey as she hit forty years old, but she could still rival Miles in a sword fight or at hand-to-hand. They had sparred a few times, and Charlie had found it inspiring to watch. Rachel, however, seemed to be made very uncomfortable by the sparring sessions. She needn't have worried though, if for no other reason than the other fact about Duncan that Charlie couldn't get over. She already had three husbands, two of which were in their twenties. Everything about the little society that Duncan ruled over flew in the face of the patriarchal and misogynistic world of the Republic that Charlie had grown up in. When trying to discuss the culture differences with her mother one night over dinner, Rachel had cattily remarked that Duncan was just a female version of Bass. So much for being united for girl power.

One day Charlie and Duncan were watching some of the men and women practicing their knife skills, when Duncan noticed Charlie absentmindedly spinning the gold band on her left ring finger. "So you're here, but I don't see a husband. That must mean there's some great story to go along with that ring? Like you married your childhood sweetheart, but he died saving you in battle?"

Charlie snorted.

"That's a no. Your parents marry you off young, but the guy was a lech and you killed him in his sleep?"

Charlie gave Duncan a one raised eyebrow look that questioned her sanity.

"Don't tell me it's some lame crap like you wear a fake wedding band to keep guys from hitting on you? I had you pegged for being way more interesting than that."

Charlie thought a moment for how to explain her sham marriage to Bass, then she smiled. "A little bit of all three actually." Now Duncan gave her a look that questioned if Charlie was actually sane. "Forced into a fake marriage with a guy I've known my whole life to save my family. He did get a little inappropriately hands-y in his sleep once, but I didn't have to kill him."

"That is one fucked up sounding story. I'll give you interesting for that one. So where's pseudo-Romeo now?" Duncan asked.

"On his way to California."

"Any particular reason for that?"

Charlie realized that "_Because everyone thinks he a psychopath that nuked his own city and we know you'll never work with us if we showed up with General Sebastian Monroe, retired." _was not a good answer. Instead she went with, "He's got a kid that got pulled into one of the Patriot psycho boot camps out there. We got some info that it might be possible to un-reprogram him, so he went to try."

"But you're still wearing the ring."

"Yup."

"Any reason you're here with us instead of going to California with him?"

Charlie faltered. How was she supposed to explain everything that had happened between Bass and her family without revealing who Bass was? "It's… complicated."

"It always is." She smiled at Charlie. "But I still recommend you give real marriage a shot at least once… or you know… more."

Charlie laughed.

Over the next few months, the combined forces of Duncan's clan, the Mathesons, and the Nevilles gathered an enormous amount of solid intel on the Patriots. It translated into domination on the battlefield. Word of their impressive and decisive victories spread, and soon they found themselves receiving the leaders of other clans, asking to join in the fight. As the revolution took root, they also noticed that it wasn't just war clans looking to join any more. Local militias, regular citizens even, were looking to take on the Patriots. They were winning on both the military and the propaganda fronts. Charlie could still remember the first night that she and Miles were sitting together in a bar in a little town not far from the outpost they were currently working out of, and they over heard the men at the bar next to them talking.

"With all the crap that's coming out about these guys, I wouldn't be surprised at all if they were the ones that nuked Philly and Atlanta." Said guy number one.

His friend replied, "Yeah. I mean, I know that Monroe guy was crazy and all, but I never really bought that as an excuse for him to destroy his whole city all of a sudden."

Back to guy number one. "You know what I think?" He and his friend leaned in conspiratorially to whisper to each other. What they didn't realize was that they were exceedingly drunk and that everyone in a five bar stool radius could still hear them. "I think Monroe was set up. He was their patsy. They did it and they blamed it on the first guy they could catch." They both sat back upright and shared a meaningful look as guy number one tapped his nose knowingly.

Back at their camp, each month Jason brought news from the capital and his father, though Charlie tended to outright avoid being in camp when she knew he would be there. Duncan had picked up on the recurring theme and teased her about it one day. Charlie was relieved to find that Duncan also seemed to find the excuse "it's complicated" to be an acceptable answer for this situation as well. In addition to what they received from Jason, their own spies and scouts brought in new intel from the rest of the continent nearly every day. Before long, the Patriots had started to realize that their communiques were being intercepted and made a brief attempt to thwart the rebel efforts. Aaron opened a letter addressed from the Vice President one day to find an entirely new form of script written below the Patriot logo.

"What the hell is that?" Miles asked, looking over his shoulder.

Aaron answered with a laugh. "It's Mandarin. C'mon, guys! How about an actual challenge?"

The secret cache of weapons, that the Patriots thought they were hiding the location of by sending the newly encoded message, was in the rebel's hands within two days. No more Mandarin messages appeared after that.

Charlie fought alongside the soldiers, planned with Miles, and spent down time talking about life, fighting, and men with Duncan. Duncan talked with her about life before the blackout and how she developed her own clan after. Charlie shared stories of her time with the rebels and fighting the Republic. It was always just "the Republic" now. After everything that had happened between them, adding the Monroe qualifier made the stories more ironic than she could handle. She kept busy, but she still found herself anxiously fidgeting with the ring on her finger any time she heard that information was brought back from the far west. None of it ever involved Bass.

Miles and Rachel had finally given in and openly admitted to whatever it was between them after about a month and a half in the camp, with Charlie's blessing more or less. When Charlie had discussed the subject with Duncan one day, the leader had suggested that "It's complicated." become the official Matheson family motto.

Summer quickly faded into fall and then winter. As the cherry blossoms began to bloom in the DC spring, the news they'd been half expecting and half dreading had come from Neville. The Patriot's big plan? Bioweapons. There was a reason they had come bearing loads of vaccines and medications. They'd spent the last sixteen years down in Cuba perfecting their biotech even without the help of electricity. Now that the populace had mostly revolted against them, they were planning to release devastation that only they could control. Hoof and Mouth Disease would eradicate the country's food animal supply, genetically engineered Blight would destroy crops for generations, African Horse sickness would ensure that no one had a cavalry but them, not to mention the plethora of human diseases that would decimate any segment of society that didn't fall into rank and file.

Charlie's joke that it would lead to a level of death and devastation that not even anyone at their dinner table had yet been able to achieve, had earned her some dirty looks from her uncle and her mother. Whatever. It had been a long time since any of them could even pretend that their hands were clean in all of this.

The Patriot's bioweapon headquarters was none other than Plum Island, a little island off the north eastern tip of Long Island, New York that had served as the country's premier location for studying all the horrifying diseases ever known to affect man or animal before the blackout. Now its pathogenic guests had returned, but this time it was not for study. The bugs were bred, altered, and weaponized. They needed to burn the place to the ground before the Patriots had a chance to use any of their creations.

They didn't have much time. They pooled all their known intelligence regarding the region, troop movements, everything they could think of. Miles spent the first day with Duncan, the leaders of the individual war clans, the heads of the various militia groups, their own commanders, anyone that could have any potential ideas or shed light on their group's own strengths and weaknesses. The next day he turned them all away. He took in all the information and processed it, churning the raw material over and over in his head until a plan began to emerge. No one disturbed him. Then, a little before dusk, he asked for Charlie.

Charlie stepped cautiously into the command tent, unsure why Miles had asked for her.

"Hey kid, grab a seat."

She sat down and looked at her uncle, who was nervously pacing the room.

"What is it Miles?"

"I need something, but we don't have it. So I'm hoping that you'll work instead."

"Huh?" His statement made no sense to her.

"I need Bass, Charlie." He ran a hand through his already tousled hair and then dragged it down over his face. "I have a plan, but it's insane. I don't know if it will work or get us all killed. This is usually the part where I tell it to Bass and he either supports it, or tells me I'm nuts. Without him, I…" He dropped himself into a chair and lowered his head into his hands.

Having only really met Miles during one of the four years he was warring with his best friend, it was easy to forget that the time they'd spent at each other's throats was only a tiny fraction of their lives. There were spans of decades where they had been inseparable. Charlie had only fought along-side Bass for a little over half a year, and the first time she'd gotten into a sword fight without him there with her, it was like she was missing an arm. She couldn't imagine what this was like for Miles. The quite literal weight of the world was on his shoulders as he planned this attack, and the support system that he'd had for most of his life was just gone. She'd always seen her uncle as the invincible force to be reckoned with, but here he sat, a wounded and worried mortal. Somehow, the realization made her admire him even more.

She walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Let's hear this plan of yours."

He looked up at her and smiled.

"So what do you need me to do? Would this work better for you if I got drunk, grabbed my crotch a lot, and called you an 'ass hat' or something?" She smiled back at him.

Miles laughed. "Just listen and be honest with me. And be yourself. I don't think the world was meant to be able to handle two Basses."

Over the next half hour Miles explained his plan and the reasoning behind each of the key strategic moves. There was only one part she found potentially problematic, and she told him so.

"Miles, you know it has to be me."

"It doesn't. That is going to be way too dangerous, and I can't…"

She cut him off again. "We both know that's the only part of the plan that's bothering you, and it's bothering you because you know your option is not strategically the best."

"I don't see how getting you killed would be better."

"Come on Miles, this isn't my first revolution." He gave her a glare that suggested he didn't find that funny at all, but she continued, "I do this and everything else falls into place."

"But it puts you where I can't protect you." He finally admitted.

"I can take care of myself." Before he could try to counter her argument, she added, "Look at who I've had to learn from over the past two and a half years. No one is better prepared for this than I am. It's time for you to let go and finally have a little faith in me."

"Can't I have faith in you and still protect you at the same time?" He huffed.

"Not anymore."

He gave in. The battle plans were rearranged, and they both knew it was the best chance they had. The end result would come down to the numbers that remained on each side at the final stage of the battle and how hard they were willing to fight. It would be a costly battle, but it would be the one to end the war for good.

The next morning, Miles and a select handful of troops set out for Connecticut while Charlie rode with Duncan and the rest toward Long Island.


	5. The Battle of New York

**The Battle of New York**

"Sir, the potential enemy troop movements we heard about yesterday… They've been confirmed." A young lieutenant reported to Colonel Neville.

"Where are they now?" Tom asked, seated at his desk inside what had once been a security checkpoint outside the Pentagon.

"They're a day's ride out of Lancaster. It looks like they've taken their whole camp."

"Do we know where they are headed?"

The nervous junior officer replied, "Didn't you say the President and his cabinet are going to a meeting in New York? Do you think they could be headed there?"

"I don't know." Tom glowered. "That's why I asked you. Do we have factual evidence pointing to them making a play for New York, or is this your speculation?"

"Just… just speculation, sir. It's like you said. Nobody here besides the two of us has any idea where the President went."

Tom had gleaned enough information to know what was going to happen once the Patriot higher ups from all over the country and the bulk of their armed forces converged on Long Island. The word would be given and the biologic weapons would be released on the rest of the continent from the nearby testing facility. Of course it had all been very hush hush. They had told only him where they were going, in case of an absolute emergency. They hadn't included the fact that anyone left behind would likely be annihilated by the viral apocalypse they were going to unleash. They'd underestimated him right to the very end, and it would be their undoing.

"Do you have any other information about them lieutenant?"

"Their numbers have grown from previous estimates, sir. Looks like there are other war clans travelling with them, some of the local rebel groups too. They're getting assistance along the way from locals in almost every little town. Folks have started calling them 'Matheson's Militia'."

Tom cackled in sardonic laughter. "Of course they are. The Republic's prodigal son returns to save them from an even bigger boogey man than before. One has to appreciate the symmetry."

"Sir?" The young officer sounded horribly confused.

"And you brought this information straight to me? Haven't said a word to anyone else about the President's whereabouts?" Tom's voice had returned to a serious timbre.

"Yes sir. You're the only one I've told. I didn't say a word to anyone about New York."

"Thank you lieutenant." Neville's voice had seemed sincere. Then, before the young man could turn for the door, Tom removed the Sig Saur handgun from the top drawer of his desk and put a bullet in the lieutenant's head.

Jason came barreling into his father's office at the sound of the gunshot.

"Son, get your things. Our time here has come to an end." Tom casually stood and put the gun in the holster on his hip. He walked toward the door, stepping over the body, and left the office with his son, closing the door behind them.

…..

It was three days later when the Nevilles finally intercepted the bulk of Matheson's Militia about twenty miles northwest of the remnants of Philadelphia. Jason was accepted into the ranks of soldiers, and Tom immediately insisted on being brought to whomever fancied themselves to be in command. Still on horseback, he was escorted to the front of the caravan, where Duncan and Charlie rode ahead of the group.

"Well. You're not exactly the Matheson I was expecting to find leading this operation." He smirked at Charlie. "Where's your uncle, kid?"

"He's out doing important General type things." Charlie smiled a sickeningly sweet grin at her old nemesis-turned-collaborator-turned-nemesis-again-turned… that line of thought was even worse than trying to describe her relations with Bass. "But he did say to give you this whenever you showed up." She pulled a rolled up piece of paper from her jacket and handed it to him, still smiling politely.

Neville opened the letter and read it to himself. After completing it, he looked at Charlie with a scowl.

"Looking forward to working with you, Tom." Even she would have sworn she sounded just like Miles as she'd said it.

"Yes Ma'am." He said indignantly before placing the paper in his own pocket, turning his horse and dropping back to join the bulk of the group.

Charlie could tell that Duncan was impressed as they rode on. "Well played." The clan leader complimented. "But are you sure we can trust him?"

Charlie mulled the question over a moment before answering, "I don't trust him as far as I could throw him. But there is nothing on this planet I trust in more than that man's desire to look out for himself. For now, while we're all on the same team… no safer place to be."

"I hope you're right." Duncan shrugged, and returned her focus to the road ahead of them.

…..

The next morning Charlie hugged her mom and Aaron goodbye and got a firm hand shake from Duncan before she set out with only Tom Neville at her side. The group travelled slowly because of its size. They needed to arrive before them, to ensure that Neville could do what he did best – arrange the chess pieces on the board where they were needed. They could travel much faster and more stealthily with just the two of them.

If any word of the giant war clan's approach or the Nevilles' disappearance had been sent from DC, they were still far enough ahead of it. The radioactive wasteland of Philadelphia sitting smack in between the two cities ensured that any riders would have to skirt the edge of the fallout zone, adding time to their trip and sending them directly into the path of the traveling war clan. The Patriots had nuked their city (she remembered Bass's plea for vengeance after their reunion), and Miles had found a way to use it to their advantage. That was the thing about the way Miles planned. He found little ways to take everything the Patriots had done to them, and use it back against them. It was a warped and devious kind of brilliance that Charlie found both impressive and frightening.

There were about a hundred miles between them and the location in the Hamptons where the Patriot Command intended to ride out their Armageddon, and Charlie wanted to cover it in under seventy-two hours. They travelled fast and hard throughout daylight and well into the night before stopping to let the horses rest. The day's grueling pace had put them exactly where Charlie wanted to be when they stopped, and had the added benefit of limiting the amount she had to interact with her new partner. Charlie was really getting sick and tired of all the 'war makes strange bedfellows' crap and having to be the one working with the guy she wanted dead a few months earlier. She longed for the simpler times, when the most psychologically uncomfortable part of her travels was having to listen to Aaron talk about chaffing.

"You hear what they're calling this army we've created?" He asked as they secured the horses and began bedding down for the night.

"Nope." Charlie said disinterestedly, hoping he'd take the hint and just leave her alone.

"Matheson's Militia." He said with a crack of laughter. "Not particularly inventive, considering the previous armed forces' moniker, but it'll save tons of time and money on rebranding the logo."

She knew he was baiting her, but she did feel a small swell of pride at the thought of Miles actually getting the recognition he deserved for all he'd done for the people. Though she was sure he'd hate it. Bass, on the other hand, would be giddy. He'd told her the story of how the original Militia had gotten its name after a coin toss. Bass had lost.

"Can't help but wonder what your uncle's other half would have to say about this." He kept pressing.

She grumbled under her breath, "Pretty sure he'd say you could shove it up your ass and take a spin on it, you weasely piece of shit. But that's probably just because he didn't like you."

"My, you do seem to have captured the essence of dear old Sebastian. Don't tell me your uncle's soft spot for that deranged sociopath has become some kind of genetically inherited defect?"

"Don't make me stab you to death while you sleep." She smiled at him and rubbed her hand over the bowie knife in its sheath on her hip.

He gave an indignant "Hmph." And rolled over to finally go to sleep.

A few hours later they swapped shifts wordlessly.

They were on the road again before day break and kept a vigorous pace. Just before dusk they approached the New Jersey side of the George Washington Bridge.

They would have to make two significant River crossings to access Long Island, first the Hudson River into New York City or onto Staten Island to the south. Then they'd have to cross the East River onto the island of Long Island. The first part would be relatively easy. While it was nowhere nearly as densely populated as it had been before the blackout, there was still a notable civilian population in what had once been the city that never slept. Travel and commerce across the few remaining bridges that straddled the Hudson River were a common occurrence. The problem would be getting onto Long Island itself. There had once been numerous bridges, tunnels, and ferry services to allow transit to the roughly one hundred mile long and twenty mile wide stretch of prime real estate. However, after the blackout and after some fortifications by the Patriots, only a scant few of the bridges remained, and they were now heavily guarded. The Patriots had turned the island into a compound.

They'd chosen to cross the Hudson at a slightly more northern location, to give them a bit more breathing room from the mass of Patriots guarding the Brooklyn Bridge at the southern tip of the peninsula. Charlie had stared, slack jawed, at the monumental buildings comprising downtown Manhattan on the little peninsula to the east as she and Neville had traced the Hudson River north throughout the afternoon. Nothing compared to the sight she'd spent most of her adolescence imagining. Granted, she'd visualized it in the glowing pre-blackout state that it was immortalized in on her post cards, but even now, the grandeur and proportion of the sky scrapers still remained. Neville had simply rolled his eyes at her gawking, but fortunately decided not to say anything.

The horses seemed to be on alert as they crossed the vast manmade bridge that had been only partially reclaimed by vegetation. They entered New York in a section that had once been known as the Bronx.

Darkness had settled as she and Neville surveilled their last option for crossing the East River. Charlie dropped the binoculars from her eyes and sighed. The Brooklyn Bridge and the RFK Bridge really were the only two remaining means of accessing Long Island, and there was no way they were going to be able to sneak across.

With a deflated sigh, Charlie grumbled, "Let's do this."

They walked back to the horses and Neville bound her wrists tightly with a length of rope. Then he mounted his horse and walked forward, dragging Charlie along. It wasn't hard for her to summon up a hateful glare as they reached the guard post at the edge of the RFK Bridge.

"Stop. Identify yourself." A guard yelled out as another four trained automatic weapons on them.

"Colonel Tom Neville. I've come from DC with news for Commander Allenford." Tom answered.

"Who's the prisoner?" The guard asked as one of the others looked at the credentials Tom handed over.

"Someone I think Commander Allenford is going to be very excited to see." Tom said with a sneer.

The guard checked some papers on a clipboard and ultimately waved them through. Once they were across the bridge, Tom dismounted his horse and he and Charlie were ushered into a wagon hitched to a fresh looking pair of horses. Two more guards joined Charlie and Neville in the back of the small wagon as another soldier got in front, picked up the reins, and urged the horses forward. The pace they set was faster than Charlie would have expected them to push the horses for what should be a nearly two day drive to the far end of the island. To Charlie's surprise, the matched pair of black and white spotted draft horses were quite fit, and they were half way to the Hamptons by sunrise. They stopped at a checkpoint, and were moved to a different wagon with fresh horses.

The second leg of their journey across Long Island passed as quickly as the first. Twilight was settling in over the Atlantic Ocean as they passed through more check points and then stopped the wagon next to a large barn. Charlie noticed a pair of soldiers approach the wagon as Tom stepped out of it, and one of her guards began unlocking the restraints that had secured Charlie to the wagon's frame.

"Colonel," One of the new soldiers addressed Neville. "We have instructions to detain you and the prisoner here until the Commander can meet us."

"You're going to detain us here? In a barn? Son, do you have any idea how far I've travelled to bring this prisoner to the President?" Tom oozed frustration.

"I'm sorry Sir, but those are my orders."

"Do you even realize who this is?" Tom glared at the young lieutenant.

"That's not information that I'm privy to, Sir. My orders were just to detain you here…"

"Until Commander Allenford gets here. Yes, you've said that already." Tom groaned. "But I'll tell you something. This girl, is Charlotte Matheson. Miles Matheson's niece."

Charlie smiled and waved a hand that was tightly bound to the other.

"I don't know if either of those names are familiar to you, but you and your superiors need to understand that this is not just some girl you're going to keep detained with a bit of rope and two guys with guns. If you don't want to lose the single biggest potential tactical advantage we may ever have over these terrorists, not to mention that she'll slit all our throats the second she gets herself loose, you will take my suggestion and get this prisoner to a secured facility with all due haste."

Charlie smiled again as the realization of being in the presence of one of the famed and feared Mathesons registered across the young soldier's face.

"But Sir, I… I have orders…"

"How 'bout you let me worry about those orders after we get one of our country's most wanted fugitives secured somewhere… I don't know… SECURE." Tom snapped.

At that, the young man caved. "Yes, Sir. This way, Sir. I'll take you to the old hospital. We've been using some of the old psyche ward rooms for holding cells. It's the most secure building we've got right now."

"Now that sounds exceedingly more appropriate." Tom sounded pleased with himself. Then he looked to the other soldier. "And why don't you go inform the joint chiefs what I've brought them. I'm sure they'll all want to get a good look our new captive, as her _cooperation_ is surely going to be crucial in unraveling this ridiculous little terrorist rebellion."

The second soldier nodded curtly and disappeared off in a different direction.

…..

Just as the deadbolt slammed shut on the outside of the padded room and a pad lock audibly clicked shut, the President, Vice President, Chief of Staff, and Secretary of Defense appeared in the hallway with a small contingent of armed guards.

Tom really wanted to laugh. Did they always travel in a pack like that? They were either incredibly stupid or exceedingly underestimating the danger that the rebel group posed. It didn't really matter which. If all their targets wanted to sit together in one convenient little group, it would just make their work all the easier.

"President Davis, Vice President Wallace, Chief Doyle, and Secretary Allenford, allow me to introduce you to Charlotte Matheson." Tom grinned as the men all took turns peering through the reinforced plexiglass observation window into Charlie's new cell.

She looked back coldly at them. She kept her eyes a mixture of dead and hateful. Inwardly she was scrutinizing the faces that were being paraded and announced before her. She had to give Neville credit. He had gotten them all exactly where they'd wanted. She was getting a good, up close and personal look at all of her targets. It would make her job that much easier later.

"She's just a girl, Tom." Doyle sneered.

"With all due respect, Sir. That's no girl. That's a Matheson, and you'd do best to not underestimate that fact." Tom tried to sound respectful, but was obviously becoming frustrated at the leaders' cavalier attitude.

"If I didn't know better Tom, I'd say you seem to be scared of her." The President nearly laughed.

"There's a difference between fear and a healthy respect, Sir. I've seen what she can do. Over the years I've lost more men than I can count at her hand alone. And since then she's been doing nothing but training with her uncle and that female war clan leader. Can't imagine that's made her any less violent and unpredictable."

"Well then," Allenford added, "let's just make sure she stays exactly where she s until we get to the point where we need her."

"What are your plans for her?" Neville asked innocently.

Doyle answered. "We'll see what information we can get her to give up. Once we're done with her then we'll decide what would be the best use for her… depending on what kind of shape she's in and what her uncle's willing to offer to get her back."

He knew that the torture was implied, but the suggestion of what they may do to her after was a little disturbing. Neville didn't miss the slight gleam in Doyle's eyes as he'd answered. It was toned down and more respectable in his presentation of it, but Tom could only remember seeing that kind of delight at the prospect of another person's suffering in the eyes of one man back in the days of the Militia. It would have been a terrifying comparison if the captive had been anyone else. Unfortunately for Doyle, Charlie had already brazenly stared down the other psychopath shortly before her mother put a hammer through his head. Tom assumed that ultimately this confrontation would end similarly.

"Then might I volunteer my services?" Tom offered. "I do have what you might call 'a history' with the girl. She is her uncle's niece. You're not going to get her talking without being able to push the right buttons. And I highly doubt that anyone knows better how to do that than I would."

"That sounds reasonable, Tom." Allenford added. The talk of torturing the young girl seemed to have put him ever so slightly on edge. "But let's start in the morning. I think we could all use an update on how you captured Matheson's niece and what other news you have of these rebels."

With that, Charlie watched as the group of men and their escorts, save two that positioned themselves and their rifles at her door, disappeared down the corridor.

Charlie attempted to settle into her new prison. She did find the padded room kind of humorous. Of all her extended family and their emotional issues, she'd always thought that she'd managed to keep it together the best. Yet here she was, the one in the rubber room. At least there wasn't a straightjacket.

She wandered about the ten foot by ten foot room and inspected everything, from the mattress laying on the floor to the failing adhesive holding the padding onto the walls. The only light came from torches lit on the other side of the observation window. She looked for anything that could potentially be used as a weapon. There was no bed frame to deconstruct, no sheets on the mattress, not even any sharp nails or screws in the walls.

About half an hour later she heard booted feet coming down the hallway. The small portal on the door opened and a tray was shoved through. There was a flattened bowl with what looked like rice and gravy in it, a spoon, and a foil pouch with a label claiming to contain some kind of juice. Yeah. Not a chance in hell of her eating that. She'd heard all of Tom and Jason's stories about mind altering drugs that the Patriots used in their re-education camps, not to mention the fact that they were here to destroy a bioweapons facility. If this meal wasn't laced with something, she'd eat her boot. She toed the tray back over to the door and went to sit on the mattress against the far wall. It was quiet in her new little prison, and without any significant distraction, she quickly began to succumb to exhaustion. With Neville having convinced the Patriots to let him run her interrogation in the morning, it was likely that she'd avoid any real torture, but she couldn't be sure who else would be there and how far they'd have to take this charade. Whether the next day's inquisition was going to be real or pretend, she couldn't see any way in which approaching it well-rested wouldn't play in her favor. She curled up on her side on the mattress and let her mind drift off towards sleep.

Charlie woke panicked and slightly confused. Her gasping breaths quickly calmed and she remembered where she was. It may have been imprisonment, but it still beat the heck out of what she was experiencing in the nightmare she'd just forced herself to wake from. She'd been reliving the moment where she'd sat with her father as he died. Except this time it wasn't her dad, it was Miles. And instead of Sylvania Estates, they were in Philadelphia. At least she had known it was Philadelphia in her dream, even though she hadn't seen any landmarks or anything that really illustrated the location. But that's just kind of how dreams were. Miles's final words had been eerily similar to her fathers', except he was telling her to go find Bass, though he faded away before he could tell her where to go. Neville had been looming over them, and her mother had been there instead of Maggie. Charlie had panicked as she watched Miles die without telling her how to find Bass and she'd forced herself to wake.

Now fully awake and attempting to collect herself before anyone that mattered realized what she had just undergone, she sat up and tried to stretch. She wasn't really one for analyzing dreams, but this one was pretty self-explanatory. She'd spent a little too much quality time with her good buddy Tom and triggered the most potent memory she had of the man. Her brain had just changed some of the characters involved to make it better adapt to her current situation. She knew better than to worry that it was something prophetic. The dream was just a manifestation of the disdain she had for Neville, her worry about Miles and his strike team, and the fact that, in this situation, she really missed Bass.

Looking around her cell, she realized that someone had collected her discarded food tray during the night. As if knowing what she had been thinking, the slot on the door flipped open and a new tray of food was shoved through. Tray, bowl, oatmeal this time, spoon, pouch of juice. No thank you. She knew that dehydration would become a problem eventually, but she hoped that this morning's little "meeting" with Neville would have him either slipping her something safe or letting her know what on the twice per diem tray was safe to consume. She sat on her mattress and made no move for the food.

About half an hour later she heard boots tramping down the corridor again. They stopped in front of her door, she heard the jingling sound of keys in a pad lock, and then her cell door swung open. Neville was standing there looking as imposing as possible flanked by her two cell guards. Yawn. She supposed she should try to pretend to be even a little bit afraid of her supposed inquisitor, but even if she didn't know the whole thing was a sham, she doubted she'd actually be afraid of the man, let alone show him any fear.

"Morning Tom. Sleep well?"

"Miss Matheson." He sneered coldly in that reptilian way he had that made her want to smack the ugly right off his face. She contented herself with the knowledge that at least some things in her upside down world of strange bedfellows would never change. Then he signaled to the guards and they entered the cell and shackled her wrists and ankles while he stayed in the doorway. She stepped out and began to follow Neville down the hallway, flanked by her guards. These two looked like amateurs, young and gripping their rifles hard enough to turn their knuckles white. She could take them out in seconds if she wanted. She was actually a little insulted that they hadn't left any more senior staff in charge of her.

"I'm sorry to tear you away from your breakfast, Miss Matheson," Tom began to droll. "But we have some important things to discuss, and I think I've found a much better venue for our conversation."

They turned a corner and were looking into what had once been the small hospital's radiology suite. She could see some of the big wigs from the previous night standing in a small ante-room around a large window that looked into a room that held a bench like thing attached to some big round apparatus that had likely scanned people for something or other before the blackout had rendered it into a one ton paperweight. She didn't miss the fact that there were arm and leg restraints attached to the gantry bench. Knowing that she should find this sight frightening, she decided it was time to show the crowd why she deserved more notable guards.

Charlie quickly ducked and rolled to the right. As the guard on that side reached down to grab her, she swung her legs out and took out his knees. He hit his head on the hard surface of the floor as he fell and was instantly unconscious. Seriously? They were lucky that she was just putting on a show. She got her shackles around the neck of the second guard before anyone could get off a shot and began using him like a shield.

"Easy there young lady." Tom said, slowly approaching her and her hostage with his hands outstretched like she was a spooked horse. "Nobody needs to get hurt here."

"Easy to say when you're not the one about to get strapped down and experimented on." When Tom was about two steps from her, she lifted her restraints from around the guard's neck and shoved him toward Neville. In the chaos she darted in the opposite direction. As she was about to round the corner she nearly ran smack into Doyle and a small flock of his soldiers. She pulled up short and started to back pedal. Fake escape attempt or not, she did not want to go up against that cold-eyed man.

"I thought you said you had this under control, Tom." Doyle sneered.

"I do now." Charlie turned suddenly when she realized that Neville's voice had been right behind her. He was holding the stock of a gun right about at her eye level. Then suddenly there was a flash of movement and everything went black.

Charlie woke to find herself strapped onto the gurney-like bench attached to the scanner in the small room. A few quick glances around showed her to be alone except for Neville, who was leaning calmly against the wall by the closed door. A glance at the big glass window that had once allowed viewing of the patient from the control room, now showed only Allenford and a few sentries watching. If she'd read the men correctly the night before, he'd seemed to be the weakest link when it came to willingness to put her through extreme interrogation measures. Not that she thought the man had a conscience or anything, but he didn't appear to be as sadistic as Doyle. Maybe this wouldn't be too bad after all.

"What the hell, Tom?" Charlie spat as she struggled against the restraints.

"You put on one heck of a show out there." His voice was calm, but his face looked angry. She couldn't figure out the reason for the disparity. "Worked out well getting them to trust my intentions a hair more."

"Glad I could help?" She said, confused.

"Uh uh." He corrected her, still looking far harsher than his voice sounded. "The room's sound proof. You can say whatever you want, but keep looking like you're fit to rip my head off as you do it, or they'll know something's up."

"Sound proof?" She said, trying to keep her countenance fierce.

"This big hunk of uselessness used to be an MRI machine. Made a heck of a racket while it operated, so the room where the doctors ran it from was sound proofed."

"So they're just gonna watch and trust you when you tell them I spilled all the beans to you?" Charlie was a little skeptical.

"You got a better plan? Because I could always just let Doyle run your interrogation."

"Fine. Let the mime show begin." She refrained from rolling her eyes.

For the next two hours they passed the time with meaningless chatter and their standard fare of snide remarks, all theatrically dressed up and paraded in front of the window as if they were threats and well, snide remarks. Neville stayed poised between her and the window most of the time, blocking any of the observers from potentially reading their lips. Not that Neville knew of any of them that could, but it seemed like a sound tactic just in case.

The story he had gone with when explaining her capture to the Patriot Command, was that she'd come into DC to investigate after hearing rumors of the higher ups clearing out. She hadn't expected anyone that could recognize her to be left and so she was careless.

"I'd never be that sloppy!" Charlie snapped as he'd told her the story he'd fabricated.

"It's called a cover story. Just go with it." He'd growled through gritted teeth.

She had learned to really hate cover stories. "How convenient that this cover story makes you look like a hero and I look like an idiot." She grumbled.

"That's the secret to getting people to believe a lie." He smiled wickedly at her. "You tell them something they want to hear and they're more likely to accept it. That's human nature. If the story isn't what they want to hear or goes against what they want, they'll question it."

"Whatever." She groused. "You still never would have caught me."

"So help me God, when this is all over, if I never see another Matheson again it will be too soon."

"The feeling's more than mutual."

Tom flung his hands in the air and suddenly turned on his heel and headed toward the door.

"Where are you going?" She asked after him.

"Lunch break. I'll tell them you're more stubborn than I expected and maybe have a bit of a concussion from the earlier head trauma. It's unfortunate but was unavoidable with that brazen escape attempt. Means we'll probably have to hold off on the truth serum and coercive interrogation tactics for a day or more." Then he turned and opened the door.

Charlie laid still on the MRI gantry and looked up at the ceiling. As much as she hated Tom Neville, he really was the right person for the job. He had contingency plans for contingency plans for situations that she hadn't even thought of.

Her inquisitor returned some time later and untethered her hands. A nervous looking guard, probably a friend of the two young imbeciles she'd taken out earlier, entered the room and passed Neville a tray before darting out of there as quickly as he could.

"Don't eat a bite of anything they give you." Neville warned.

"Figured that one out on my own." She made a show of slapping the tray wildly out of his hands as he extended it out to her.

He acted irate and lunged at her like he was about to hit her, gesturing to the mess all over the floor. "Good. The juice packets are safe as long as you don't see any needle puncture marks along the seams. They should be sealed. Give it a squeeze and if nothing leaks out they're not contaminated."

"What are they contaminating the food with?" She asked nervously.

"An artificial form of typhus. Takes a couple days to kick in, but then without an antidote, it will be fever, seizures, and coughing up blood until you die. Anyone asks after you, they'll say you must have caught something on the trip here."

"Typhus? That's a new one." She mused.

"Courtesy of our friends out on Plum Island. It was the first of their designer diseases that Doctor Horn had ready before his untimely death."

"Not untimely enough." Charlie grumbled.

"I hear they've been giving it some trial runs out west. Word is they had some big results in Texas." Neville informed her.

Instantly Charlie's mind flashed to Willoughby. They may have harbored the Patriots and turned on her family when Truman had started spreading his lies about the bombing, but most of those townspeople were good, honest people. They didn't deserve to be struck down with a plague.

"Well that's about to change." She sneered.

"On that fact, I think we can finally agree."

Charlie noticed that Allenford had left the viewing room by this point, and it was just a handful of guards left monitoring them. They'd still have to keep up their act, but they wouldn't be scrutinized nearly as severely as before.

They discussed their plans and pertinent details of where the Patriot leadership resided. If they didn't stay in their little alpha dog pack, there was a chance that Charlie would have to go door to door dealing out her death sentences. After what Neville determined was enough time to make it believable and a few staged bouts of anger, he signaled to the guards. Four of them entered this time, each looking a bit less naive than the pair this morning.

She was shackled, led back to her cell, unshackled, and locked inside. A tray of food and juice packet was slid through the slot in the door and Charlie took Tom's advice. She discarded the food, but carefully looked over the juice packet. A few good squeezes showed no leaks and she couldn't find any areas that appeared to have been tampered with, so she ripped the strip off the top and drank the orange colored concoction. It reminded her of some stuff that that they had found on a scouting trip when she was nine or ten years old. It had been an orange powder in a little plastic container, but when it was added to water it made a sickeningly sweet syrup. She had insisted on diluting it out more, but Danny had tried to make it as strong and sticky as possible. She tried to remember the name that had been stamped on the container. It had been something silly like Ting or Tangy or some similarly absurd word. She remembered her dad laughing when they'd found it and saying that it lasted forever, and that it was what men in space drank.

The memory of her father and brother brought on a wave of sadness. She missed her family. She missed the ones she'd lost for good, and she missed the ones that were just a hundred or so miles away. Though in the next few days, the way things were set to go down, she could… probably would lose more of them for good before it was all over.

That thought made her even more mournful. She'd lost so many people already, she wasn't sure that she could stand to lose more. She realized that she used deaths to mark the passage of time more than she thought about the actual calendar date. Two and a half years ago she'd watched her father bleed out in her arms. A month after that it had been Maggie. Then she watched Danny ripped apart by that helicopter's gun about five months later. It was another half a year until Nora died in the Tower. After that it was eight months until Gene was killed in their escape from Willoughby. Then nine months ago she'd watched Bass walk off into the night, never to be heard from again. Yeah, she wasn't stupid. She knew what it meant. Nine months was plenty of time to traverse the country on horseback, and no one had heard one peep about the reemergence of Sebastian Monroe. Not even a single Elvis-like sighting had been reported. The Mathesons were up to their necks in a war and he wasn't here. That meant only one thing. He wouldn't ever be coming back.

She hadn't really mourned that loss. Mostly that was because no one around her would have understood and she didn't want to put the time or effort into trying to explain it to people. Shit. She wasn't even sure she could explain it to herself. She knew she missed him. She'd grown used to his presence before they'd even made it back to Willoughby from that crap bar in North Texas. Acceptance had grown to trust, and trust to partnership. It was the way they worked together when they were partnered up that had become the turning point. It was too easy. It was comfortable. She didn't bother trying to push him away, because he just got her. Any walls she put up just didn't seem to apply to him. The moment they realized that it was going to be taken away, they'd both felt the loss even before the separation had happened. Then somehow they'd both thought that taking it a step further would fill that void. Her mind replayed the collection of recorded memories from that night in the hotel hallway. It was passionate and desperate, and it was closer than she'd ever allowed another person to get to her. She kept people at arm's length because, as her impressive track record showed, everyone leaves her. Yet this time, she'd known with absolute certainty that he was going to leave in the imminent future, and she'd chosen to let him in any way. She wasn't sure she'd ever understand why.

She twisted the ring on her finger and laid back on the shabby mattress on the floor. At least he'd marched off to his doom knowing that somebody cared, and that somebody would miss him. The fact that it was a Matheson probably brought him all the comfort he needed. She didn't want to think about all the ways _it_ could have happened, to wonder what his last thoughts were as he lost consciousness for good this time. She just hoped that it had been quick, or that he'd gotten to go down fighting. That seemed like what he would have wanted. None of that inhumane execution business that Texas had tried. She wondered if he'd managed to save his son first. She had to believe he did, because she just couldn't imagine him allowing himself to be killed without completing a task that was that important to him.

That reminded her of the important task that lay looking before her. She wasn't sure when Neville would be able to get her out of this mess, but she hoped it was soon. What she had to do, it was too important, and she didn't want to take any chances. She needed to be out there, prepping and planning. Not in this cell lamenting over her dead… She looked down at the ring on her finger and wondered what the hell she even considered Bass. Her brain suddenly started to hurt, and while she could try to convince herself that it was due to hunger, she knew better.

Despite doing everything she could to clear her mind, it was a long time before she managed to fall asleep.

She was woken by the sound of a new tray being slid into her cell. She again ignored the food and turned her attention to the drink pouch. She gave it a firm squeeze and noticed a small bead of orange liquid pooling along one of the seams. On close inspection, she could see a small puncture mark in the packaging. She tossed the pouch onto the tray and walked back over to her mattress. Maybe she could get a little more sleep before they came for her this morning.

The morning's interrogation routine had passed just like the day before's, except this time, Allenford was accompanied by Doyle in her audience. Neville dragged her into the MRI room, she was secured to the gurney, and they made small talk while pretending to fight with each other. Shortly before the designated lunch break he pretended to be fed up with her. He left the room briefly and returned with a syringe.

"Truth serum. Sodium amatol." He explained. "Peculiar stuff. Lowers inhibitions and makes people more open to suggestion. People with strong convictions were frequently able to withstand the stuff. Made them a little groggy, but didn't get them to give up their secrets. So this stuff was a little iffy even before the blackout. Now with quality control being what it is these days, wouldn't be surprised at all if it did nothing but make you a little groggy." He gave her a knowing glance.

She rolled her eyes, taking the hint. Act groggy. Yeah. Got that the first time he said it.

He stood between her and the observation window at his back. Tom reached down to where her arm was strapped down to the padded bench. Then he moved the syringe toward the crease in her elbow. At the last second he diverted it ever so slightly, sliding the needle into the faux leather lining the bench and injecting the small amount of fluid into the foam of the cushion instead of her vein. Then he turned and walked toward the door. Holding it open as he spoke, so that Allenford and Doyle could hear him, he sneered at her. "Why don't we let you marinade for a few moments while we eat some lunch. Then I'll be back to finish our little chat."

She struggled against her bonds, trying to act violated.

He returned about fifteen minutes later and continued their charade, except this time Charlie got to pretend to nod off while Neville was speaking. She wasn't sure if this was really annoying him or if his acting had just gotten better, but Charlie was having some fun with the part.

Things were going well for about an hour. That's when the door to her interrogation room slammed open and the last person they wanted to see entered the room. "I'm done playing games with you, Miss Matheson." Doyle looked down at her.

"Really? Because I was just starting to have fun." She smirked back at him. Then her head snapped to the side with the force of the slap he landed on her face.

"So glad to hear you say that, Miss Matheson, because this is where the fun really begins." He signaled to the guards, and they brought in a leather satchel and a large bucket full of water.

"Sir?" Neville began to question.

"I'm taking over this interrogation now, Tom. So shut up and stay out of my way. Unless you want us to start thinking that you're in collusion with this young woman." Doyle made no attempt to hide the threat in his statement.

"No sir. Just let me know if there is anything I can do to help." Tom stepped back, giving Charlie an almost apologetic look.

"I have everything I need right here." He looked vindictively at Charlie.

Charlie just stared back. She would not show him fear, because she was not afraid of him. She had been trained in interrogation tactics, without Miles or Rachel's knowledge, by none other than Sebastian Monroe himself. His first lesson had been that the fear of pain or what they might do to you is almost always worse than the actual torture. Charlie had felt all sorts of pain over the years. She'd been shot, stabbed, burned, blown up, and bludgeoned. The one thing she knew about every type of pain was that it was temporary. She was not afraid of whatever this Doyle ass hat wanted to do to her, because some time in the near future, the pain would be gone and he would be dead. He didn't scare her.

"Let's have some fun." She smirked up at him.

…..

Doyle had worked her over fairly thoroughly, though she felt that he was probably still taking it easy on her because she was a girl. Or because he underestimated her tolerance levels. Either way, she wasn't going to complain. He'd managed to inflict pain without doing any serious damage. All bruises and shallow cuts. This had been General Monroe's rule number two regarding interrogation. Until they start to give up the goods, don't risk hurting them badly enough that you risk killing them or putting them into a state where they can't answer or can't remember the answer to your questions. Let the fear of what is still to come continue to be the stronger motivator. Once you've gotten at least most of what you want out of them, that's when you pull out all the stops. Once the real damage starts, that's when they'll give up that last little bit of info you didn't even know they had.

Now, as Doyle had her kneeling on the floor with her hands secured behind her back and was shoving her head into the bucket of cold water, she remembered the conversation with Bass. It happened in the early days of her being left to babysit him. They both knew why Miles wouldn't let him out of her sight, and she always figured that he'd started the lesson as a form of payback against his supposed friend. He'd been so blasé about the whole topic, to the point where Charlie had actually had to call him on it.

"_You're talking about torturing people, but you're acting like you're giving me cooking lessons. You could at least pretend like you have a soul and that this bothers you." She'd thrown at him._

"_Look. There are sick fucks out there that torture people because they like seeing another person hurt. That's not this. What I'm talking about is how to effectively get information out of someone. It is a battle of wills, and if you can't go into it knowing that you're not going to break first, then you have no business doing it at all." _

"_I don't think I could ever know that in a situation like that." She shrugged, feeling like the whole lesson was worthless._

"_I've already seen you do it." He looked her dead in the eyes, expression all serious._

_She raised an eyebrow at him._

_He explained, "Philadelphia. When you showed up with Miles and company. I watched you look down Strausser's gun, now there was one of those sick fucks that like torturing people too damn much. But it was there. No one in that room had any doubt that you weren't going to back down. That's why your mom did. She was watching us play chicken and knew that it was gonna end in a crash."_

"_Could you please try not sounding like this memory is getting you all hot and bothered?"_

"_I'm trying to tell you something that could save your life someday. And that's exactly the point."_

_She looked at him, still not understanding._

"_No, I don't see you ever doing the interrogating. But it works both ways. If you're ever in the spot where someone's interrogating you, this is what you gotta know. It's the same on the other side of the table. If you can go in there knowing that you're not going to break, then you're actually the one with the power. Take control. Be a smartass. Do whatever you can to make them emotional and throw them off their game."_

"_You mean like the way I had you all turned on that day in Philly?"_

"_Exactly. No, wait… I wasn't… Fuck you. This lesson's over." He looked disgusted and turned away from her._

"_Who has all the power now?" She'd smiled to herself as he'd skulked away._

When her head was pulled back out of the water, she gasped a few times.

"What do you have to say now?" Doyle looked menacingly down at her.

"Got any shampoo? 'Cause it's been a while since I've been able to wash my hair this well." Her head was plunged right back into the bucket, but Charlie felt the comment was totally worth it.

When he pulled her head up again he lifted her face to look at her and slapped it before adding, "Any more smart remarks?"

This time Charlie stayed quite. She could see the rage burning in Doyle's eyes. He was not the one in control here and he was starting to recognize it. She needed him to believe that he was if her set up was going to work.

Her head went back into the water again, this time a bit longer than the last. As he pulled it out again, he menaced, "What are your family and their group of savage friends up to?"

"I'll never sell out my family." She shot back, letting her voice tremble a little.

Then he kicked her in the gut, knocking the wind out of her, before immediately submerging her face again. She struggled, this time the blow had caused her to suck in a mouthful of water. When she was released, she gagged and retched, looking truly pathetic and terrorized.

"What are their plans?" He yelled and shoved her head back into the bucket again. He held it under longer this time, and Charlie could feel her lungs starting to burn before her head was jerked up and out of the bucket.

She spluttered water from her mouth for a second pretending to give in. "They're coming." Charlie sputtered out as she blew water out of her sinuses. "They know why you're here and they're coming. All of them." Then she broke into a coughing fit, trying to expel the small amount of water she'd inhaled from her lungs.

He turned his angry stare to Neville, "Did you have any idea about this?" Despite the bravado, Charlie could still hear it in his voice. Doyle was afraid.

"No sir. I saw no signs of the war clan on my way here with the girl. If I had, you can't believe they'd have let me pass with Matheson's niece in tow?" Tom was trying hard to come across as intimidated.

"Then we still have plenty of time to prepare." Doyle sneered before turning his attention back to Charlie. He kept his punishing grip on her hair and got his face right up in hers. "And what do they think they're going to be able to accomplish?"

"We know about the Tower, what you psychopaths are up to. We're going to make sure the rest of the world knows it, and then we're going to kill you." Charlie sneered back at him.

"Well, best of luck with that. We have an army, and you have, what? A rag tag bunch of inbred mountain men and a washed up alcoholic General of that sham of a Republic? If they want to kill themselves, we're more than happy to help. But don't fool yourself into thinking there's any other way this is going to end." He glared at her with an evil grin that made her shiver. "Though I'll make sure to let you know how it goes, while you're stuck here in your cell." Then he turned to the soldiers and commanded, "Guards, take Miss Matheson here back to her cell."

The guards grabbed her weakened body, one at each shoulder, and started forcing her out of the room. As they were leaving, she head Doyle say to Tom, "And that is how you interrogate a terrorist." The guards dragged her down the hall and cut her restraints before heedlessly flinging her into her cell.

She crawled over and laid on the mattress, hair still wet and her body trembling slightly. This Doyle character was a monster. Physically, she could take whatever he decided to dish out, but she wasn't sure that he could handle himself. She worried that at any minute, he'd just go off the rails and kill her. There was something more than logic at play behind his cold eyes. There was some kind of hatred and mental instability. She really didn't want to have to face him again.

They shoved the tray of standard fare through the slot in the door, but she made no move to even get up and inspect it. She'd passed out briefly, but woke no more than a few hours later. As she tried to force herself back to sleep, Charlie heard an unfamiliar clicking down the hallway leading to her cell. As it approached she recognized the rhythm for footsteps and realized that they were those of a woman wearing high heeled shoes. There was a sound she had vowed to forget.

"Good evening boys." A sickeningly sweet female voice greeted the guards outside her door.

"Mrs. Doyle, ma'am." The guard responded.

Charlie became instantly concerned. So the monster had a wife that was allowed where they were holding her. There was no mention of this woman in their plans. Why would she be here? Something had changed and she had no idea if Neville had been compromised. Had they found out what they were planning? Was everything ruined? Had she failed Miles?

Charlie took a few deep breaths and centered herself. So she would have to improvise. She could still do this. She gathered the spoon she had been given with her nightly gruel, as it was the only thing they'd allowed her that could have any potential as a weapon, and plastered herself flat against the wall of her makeshift cell behind where the opening door would obscure her from view. She waited and listened. As the woman outside offered the men some warm cider and made small talk, Charlie evaluated her weapon. A spoon wasn't much, but it could gouge an eye or maybe, with enough force, stab into someone's gut. She barely stifled a snort as she realized that she was actually planning on killing someone with a spoon. Bass would be so proud right now.

Then Charlie heard the muffled sounds of some bodies falling to the floor and the click clack of the high heeled shoes stepping over them and jingling keys. Charlie braced herself for a fight as the door swung open.

"Charlie?" The voice called out questioningly.

She couldn't explain it, but somehow Charlie knew that the woman wasn't a threat. She stepped quietly out from behind the door and appraised the intruder.

"You're going to need to hurry. We don't have much time." The woman addressed her and leaned forward to start dragging the bodies of the guards she'd apparently drugged into the cell.

"Who are you? Why are you doing this?" Charlie questioned as she leaned down and helped. The prim and proper appearing woman was having little success at dragging the bodies by herself.

As they deposited the first body in the corner of the room, the woman stood up, straightened her fancy frilly top where it laid over the charcoal knee length pencil skirt, and extended a hand. "My name is Julia Neville."

Charlie stood and politely shook the woman's hand. So this was Jason's mother. She'd heard the adults all speak about her, usually in reference to etiquette, gossiping women, or some book called Macbeth. But as Charlie looked her over, all she could think was _Oh. So that's how those clothes are supposed to look. Why doesn't she look as uncomfortable as I was?_

"I know we've never met and that you and my husband have quite a complicated past, but Jason always spoke very highly of you. And if Tom says we need you to overthrow these monsters," She had walked over to the second guard and they started dragging his body, "Then we must truly need your help."

"Where is Tom?" Charlie asked as they left the second body in a pile with the first.

"He's in a meeting with the joint chiefs of staff." She answered. "It appears that they've suddenly found out that there is going to be some kind of attack. The President and all the joint chiefs will probably be up all night together planning." She quirked an eyebrow knowingly at Charlie. "Tom would be missed if he tried to sneak out here. _I_ on the other hand…"

"But what are you doing here with the Patriots at all?"

"While you were all off at the Tower, I had barely made it out of Atlanta before the bombs fell. It was weeks living on my own before I started to hear stories of what had happened in Colorado. They were saying that Monroe had gone mad and killed his own men before sending the bombs."

Charlie was giving her a quizzical look.

"You met him in Philadelphia. You can't tell me that it's really that much of a stretch to imagine the man going that insane."

All Charlie could do was give a little shrug. Maybe she could have two years ago. Now she thought of him as her best friend in absentia, and he was a man that was very hard to reconcile with the monster Julia was describing.

"When I heard that, I thought Tom and Jason had surely been killed. When the Patriots arrived from Cuba, I happened to be staying in Jacksonville, where the landed. I realized that they were the ones holding all the cards, so I ingratiated myself with them."

"You joined them?" Charlie sounded unimpressed.

"I infiltrated them." Julia corrected harshly. "You're lucky to have had your family this whole time. Things are different out there for a woman alone. You may not understand, but sometimes you have to do things… things you don't want to… in order to survive."

For the first time, Charlie actually felt that she understood where this very different woman was coming from. She thought of the six months on her own after getting her family to Willoughby after the Tower. There were a couple of nights when her money had run out and she'd picked up a guy at the local bar and gone home with him just for the place to sleep and a meal in the morning. "Actually, I do understand."

Julia stared at Charlie thoughtfully. "Tom said to tell you that everything you need is on the roof of the old grocery store across from the town hall."

"Thank you." Charlie said with a meaningful look at Julia.

"You just do whatever it is you're here to do and end this. I want to be able to go back to my real family. That will be thanks enough."

Charlie nodded and headed out into the hallway. Julia followed and locked the door behind them. They parted ways silently at the stairs as Charlie used the darkness as cover to head for the town hall.

She found the derelict Trader Joe's and carefully snuck along the edge of the building until she found a rickety fire escape ladder along the back wall leading up to the roof. She wasn't entirely convinced that the ladder could support her weight, but supposedly Tom had made it up to the roof to stash her gear, so it should still hold her. It was a tense few moments climbing up the rusted rungs, but she made it to the roof safely. She peered over the edge and ensured that no one else was there. When she found the coast clear, she hauled herself over the ledge and onto the roof. She skirted around the edge of the open space, as it provided better cover on the off chance that someone was looking, and the integrity of the middle of the roof looked rather questionable.

She made it around to the small wall on the north side of the building facing the entrance to the East Hamptons City Hall. There, in a bundle under a worn tarp, were her crossbow, a quiver of arrows, and her pack containing her other weapons, a small stash of food, and a bottle of water. Charlie loaded the crossbow and took stock of her surroundings.

Even though it was past midnight, there were still lanterns burning in the City Hall. She supposed that was where Neville and the joint chiefs were meeting. Good. Everybody in one place at one time. She looked out over the small lawn in front of the government building and found a spot on the roof that gave her the best unobstructed view. Then she sat and waited.

For the first one to two hours it was easy to keep focused. She was still all anxiety and nerves. Then the drama slowly wore down as nothing happened, and it became harder to keep focused. She snacked on the food that had been left for her and sipped sparingly at the water. She wasn't about to miss her target because she'd had to sneak off to pee. She kept her eyes on the front door and the flickering lampposts illuminating the entranceway, her bow always pointed to where her targets would be when the time came.

Charlie had always had a rather ample supply of patience, but after four hours, even her attention span was being tested. That was when she turned to the stories she had recorded to memory and saved in her mind until this time that she knew would come. During her Miles enforced, babysitting Monroe duty, Bass had told her tale after tale of his and Miles's time fighting in the Middle East when they were about her age. It was during their second tour that they'd done the training and were actually deployed together to work as a sniper unit. He'd told her the stories of the way they'd have to wait a whole day or more with their focus never leaving a pinpoint sized target almost a quarter mile away. She recalled the mental gymnastics he'd described them using to stay focused, and tried them out herself. There were breathing exercises, imagery, all sorts of tactics. Mostly she fought to push aside the memory of Bass's relaxed smile as he'd shared his stories with her, typically a flask or a piece of jerky in his hand that would be flailing around wildly as he gesticulated to add emphasis to the description. Her thumb spun the gold band on her finger without any conscious direction to do so or cognizant recognition of the action. In the end, the focusing technique she found most effective was the one he said had always seemed to work the best for her uncle. She focused on all the people that they'd lost battling these monsters. This was her one shot to make it right, to make sure that they never cost anyone else their beloved friends and family. She would focus and she would make the shot because it was the only way to honor the sacrifice of those that had fallen and to protect those that hadn't. She simply wouldn't allow herself to fail them.

The mantra of "failure is not an option" was still replaying in her mind as the sun crested over the horizon to her right. Their timing couldn't have been more perfect. Charlie knew what day it was, and knew what should be happening at any moment.

Just as the nadir of the sun's silhouette rose above the flat line of the Atlantic Ocean she noted the most beautiful sight she could imagine in her peripheral vision. There was a thick roll of black smoke billowing up from the horizon to the north. It wasn't that noticeable from their location yet, unless you were looking for it, but Charlie was. And she had no doubt that the Patriots would notice it soon enough as well. That dark cloud was the harbinger of all their plans literally going up in smoke. It was the sign that their day of reckoning was upon them. It was Miles.

_Two weeks earlier_

"_Then, while I lead a strike team to attack Plum Island from the Connecticut shore at dawn on the fourteenth day, there will be an assassin waiting in New York." Miles was baring his plan to Charlie alone in the command tent. "They will take out the President, the Vice President, the Chief of Staff, and the Secretary of Defense. Their command structure will be in chaos. That's when we drive in and hit them hard with the bulk of our forces. Duncan and the war clan will come in from the west and use the geography of the island against them. We'll drive them back to the eastern shore, where my team will come in from behind from Plum. They'll be surrounded with their leadership gutted. If we have the numbers and the will to move them into position, they'll fall."_

"_It's a good plan." Charlie comforted, though her voice obviously indicated that she was holding something back. "Who are you going to send as the assassin?"_

"_Husband number three, or whatever Duncan calls the younger one." Miles answered almost noncommittally. "We'll use Neville to help infiltrate their base of operations."_

"_Marco. His name's Marco." Charlie corrected. "And Marco's a good shot, but he's green. He's never been tested in a situation like this. You sure you want to risk going with someone you don't know you can trust?"_

"_What other option do I have?" Miles knew what her answer would be and was attempting to put off the inevitable for as long as he could._

"_Marco is good with a sniper rifle, but do you really think that's the best weapon for this situation? It's slow to reload and noisy. They'll pick him off before he gets off a second shot." She challenged._

"_What are you suggesting then?" Miles asked warily._

"_Crossbow." Her tone was confident._

"_Mmm hmm. And who are you proposing fire said crossbow?"_

"_I'll do it."_

"_No. You won't."_

"_You know I'm the best you've got."_

"_Still not gonna happen." He shook his head at her._

"_Miles, you know it has to be me." _

"_It doesn't. That is going to be way too dangerous, and I can't…"_

_She cut him off again. "We both know that's the only part of the plan that's bothering you, and it's bothering you because you know your option is not strategically the best."_

"_I don't see how getting you killed would be better."_

"_Come on Miles, this isn't my first revolution. I do this and everything else falls into place."_

"_But it puts you where I can't protect you." He finally admitted._

"_I can take care of myself. Look at who I've had to learn from over the past two and a half years. No one is better prepared for this than I am. It's time for you to let go and finally have a little faith in me."_

"_Can't I have faith in you and still protect you at the same time?" He huffed._

"_Not anymore." _

Charlie took a few deep breaths and centered herself. She noticed a small group of men running into the City Hall. It was show time.

A few moments later Charlie saw a crowd rush out onto the front lawn of the building across the street. She picked out Neville first, years of concentrated hatred making him the easiest to discern. Then she recognized the men around him from when he had paraded them in front of her. Panic was breaking out around the small cloister of very important men as more and more observers noted the smoke billowing in the distance. They were all turned away from her, looking in the direction of their decimated bioengineering lab, when she noticed Neville turn his head slightly in her direction and nod. She understood. This was her chance.

She briefly closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath. Then she opened them, sighted her first target, and exhaled smoothly. In that moment, when she had released her breath and her chest stilled, she pulled the trigger, just as Miles had taught her. The man on the far left, the supposed President of the United States, crumpled to the ground with an arrow through his brainstem.

As the others turned to look at what had happened, she already had another arrow reloaded. Another solid breath, quicker this time, and then the Vice President dropped before anyone had figured out what was happening.

They were all in motion now, so she aimed for Commander Allenford's chest. Her arrow struck home as Tom turned and grabbed the Chief of Staff. She'd let Neville have the honor of taking out the man that had been bedding his wife. He sliced the unsuspecting Doyle across the carotids and let his body fall to the ground with the rest of them. Then, with confusion all around them, he turned and looked up at her with a sickly enthused smile.

Neville had to hop backward a step when an arrow lodged in the ground an inch from his right foot. Apparently Charlie didn't find his gloating to be appropriate. He slipped into the bedlam of frantic people running about before anyone could realize what had happened to the men on the ground next to him.

Having confirmed her kills, Charlie quickly grabbed her pack and slung her crossbow over her shoulder. She made sure that her knife and sword were sheathed where she was accustomed to having them along her belt, and she darted for the fire escape. Everyone seemed to be rushing toward the fallen leaders, and paid little attention to a single girl ducking between the throngs of the crowd and going in the opposite direction.

All she had to do now was somehow make it back to the safety of the bulk of the Militia. If everything had gone according to plan, they should have been half way across Long Island by the time Miles had attacked the lab at daybreak. There would be no retreat for the Patriots. They were cornered now, and soon the fighting would begin.

As Charlie walked between some abandoned storefronts near the beach, she felt a strong hand firmly grab her arm and begin to drag her toward the side door of one of the buildings. She was about to drive her field knife into the arm attached to the hand holding her, when she recognized the reptilian voice of her attacker.

"Easy there Lee Harvey, it's me." Neville hissed at her and let go of her arm.

Charlie sneered and reluctantly followed him into the dilapidated store. "What is this place?" She asked as she took in her surroundings. There were some weapons stacked on one table, prepackaged food rations on another, and gallon jugs of water lining a shelf.

"It's a safe house." He whispered harshly. "Some of us have actually been working on keeping our asses alive these last few days."

"Well excuse me for being incarcerated." Charlie glared at him. Then she walked over to the weapons cache and inspected an assault rifle from the pile.

She wasn't really sure what to say to him. She had assumed that after they'd taken out their targets, it would be every man for himself. Her plan had been to scramble back to the front lines, though she had assumed that he would get his wife and go to ground. Never once had she expected that he would make plans to keep her safe as well.

"Why did you do this?" She asked hesitantly.

"I don't know what your family's been teaching you, but a safe house isn't much use without provisions."

"No. Not…" Charlie wasn't even sure where to start. "All of this. The safe house, helping my family, fighting the Patriots… I don't get it. We all hate each other. Why are you helping with any of it?"

"Young lady, have you ever heard the saying 'the enemy of my enemy…'"

"'…is my friend.' Yeah, yeah." Charlie interrupted. "I bought that one back with Georgia, but now it's all just enemies, and you have to know that no one is ever going to truly trust you."

"I'm fighting this war because, as bad as your uncle and his boyfriend ever were, they were nothing compared to these Patriots. They're a whole different kind of bad that I don't think you can even imagine."

"There's a certain irony in listening to _you_ say that." Charlie dead panned.

He sneered at her. "Listen here little girl, the blackout made a lot of people become something they wouldn't have been otherwise. Lots of men became monsters because they had to, or because something happened to make them that way. Hell, I had a front row seat for the creation of the worst of the worst, but even dear old President Monroe at his most unhinged can't hold a candle to these star spangled ass hats."

"Hold on. What?" Charlie had gotten stuck on part of Neville's diatribe.

"What I'm saying is that these Patriots are pure and simple evil."

"No." Charlie corrected. "Before that. You said you watched Monroe become a monster. Do you mean like as he went more and more nuts over the years?"

Neville looked at her curiously, reading into her interest about their former nemesis. "Oh no, dear girl. I meant exactly what it sounded like. I was there to see the one event that sent that crazy train right off its rails." Noting her confused and wary look he couldn't help but continue. He remembered their interactions at the stables and the way she'd responded to his sarcastic comments on the trip to New York. He had a feeling he knew from where her interest in this topic had sprung. "They never told you?"

Charlie was now suddenly very afraid of what she was about to hear.

"It was two and a half years after the blackout when my family joined up with a camp outside of Urbana Champaign. The camp leader was a real bad ass, had spent time in the Marines and didn't seem to have any problems doing whatever dirty work was needed to keep the group safe. Only problem was he had this best friend that was dragging him down."

Charlie rolled her eyes. Neville never did appreciate Miles.

"While Miles was busy running the camp, all Monroe wanted to do was fawn all over his pregnant girlfriend."

Charlie's heart skipped a beat. What. The. Hell? That was not the way she'd expected this story to go.

"About the time the girl was due, the two supposed leaders of the group were completely at odds about raiding a nearby camp for food to survive the winter. They thought they were hiding it, but everybody knew. The father-to-be didn't want to steal from others, but your uncle was drawing up the plans for a surprise raid anyway. That's until the girl and the baby died in childbirth. I had the unfortunate honor of being nearby at the time. A man had walked into that tent, but what came out after… That night he went to that neighboring camp, slaughtered them all, and took everything they had." Tom took a moment to revel in the shock on Charlie's face. The girl really did need a clearer picture of the men she so blindly followed. "Those supplies got us through that winter. We all knew how we came by them, but we were all just so happy to be alive that no one was going to talk about it. By the end of winter, Miles wasn't the one calling the shots any more. Then it was just a hop, skip, and a jump to that Republic you loved so much."

Charlie was speechless. A part of her was horrified at hearing about the atrocities that Bass had committed, but that wasn't really such a shock in light of her own personal history with him. What had knocked her gut clear across the room was the reason for it all. She remembered how deeply it broke him to even talk about his parents and little sisters that night around the fire after the courthouse raid. Then there was the way he'd nearly broken when they'd found Connor brainwashed and bent on exterminating them. She couldn't imagine him surviving the scene Neville had described. Then again, if she really was going to believe what Neville had told her happened next, maybe he didn't survive it. At least not all of him.

"So maybe you'll believe me when I tell you that I've seen men lose their humanity. But like I said, these Patriots are something worse. I'm talking Nazi Germany all over again. That Dr. Horn was their Mengele, and Plum Island their Auschwitz. I'm working with your family because when you are trying to take down the biggest beast the world has ever seen, you better have a few monsters of your own. And I just happened to know a whole family of them."

"Aww. I'm touched." She gave a sarcastic grin and turned her attention back to the pile of firearms. She hung the rifle from a clip on her belt and grabbed a pair of thigh holsters with pistols, as well as some ammunition for each. Then she tossed a bit of the food into her pack and refilled her water bottle.

"And while this is a swell hide out, I'm getting back to that family. Now." It wasn't that she couldn't stand being around Neville any more after that little share session. Ok, that was part of it. But mostly she knew that she was needed. Her place was with her mom and Aaron and Duncan, fighting from one side until they met up with Miles in the middle. She was not going to sit around and just wait for the fight to come to her.

"Dammit girl!" Neville grabbed her shoulder and spun her to face him as she'd been heading for the door. "Miles will be coming through here in less than twenty four hours, and if you've gone off and gotten yourself killed in the meantime, it'll be my head on a stake."

"Wow Tom, that's touching. I had no idea you cared." She smiled with mock sweetness, then grabbed his hand with crushing force and pried the fingers from her shoulder. "But I'm going."

Just then the door swung inward and they both froze. Fortunately it was Julia. All of Tom's attention suddenly turned to his wife. Charlie used the momentary distraction of the two devoted spouses reuniting to make a break through the door. Yeah. If there was anything more awkward than spending time cooped up in a safe house with Tom Neville, it had to be watching him make out with his wife. Not. Ok.

The area was utter mayhem, and Charlie was able to easily take out a soldier running past where she had waited in an alley. She pulled on their tan jacket over her clothes and slid the baggy cargo pants up over her jeans and belt. The disguise should help her blend in and avoid notice until she made it out of the more densely populated area.

She'd never make it to her family on foot, so she headed toward the stables where they'd left the horses and wagon when they'd arrived days before. Just as she started to approach the barn, she heard a familiar voice.

"Charlie, c'mon. Get in." It was Julia Neville sitting in the passenger seat of a small cart that her husband was driving. Apparently they had decided to join her.

Charlie quickly climbed into the back of the little cart and they sped off. When they reached a checkpoint Tom easily announced that Mrs. Doyle's husband had been assassinated with the President and he was tasked with getting her to safety. They both had the appropriate clearance levels and the story seemed legit, so they were able to quickly speed on their way.

That afternoon, when they reached the half way checkpoint where they'd switched wagons on their way to Patriot Command, they were stopped and informed that no one would be allowed to pass because of the encroaching enemy threat.

"Well, that certainly sounds dangerous." She gave the guards an overly innocent pouting face, and then she and Tom both quickly moved hands to their weapons and dispatched the four guards with ease. They ushered the horse team on, hoping that the pair of horses would have enough left in them to make it the last few miles to where the rest of their group was reportedly camped. Charlie and Tom both shed their Patriot uniforms at that point, and they stayed on constant alert for patrols from either side, not sure if they'd be recognized by the Militia as friend or foe before anyone started shooting.

It was early evening before they finally ran into the first scouting party from their militia. Fortunately it included Jason Neville and Marco, who both recognized Charlie and Tom on sight. As Jason gratefully reunited with his mother, Charlie filled Marco in on the success of her mission. He let her know that they'd seen negligible resistance on their way onto the island and so far everything was going as planned on their end as well. They were setting up a camp for the night about two miles away. They were going to try to let the men rest up while they could, then strike forward at dawn, leaving the camp in place for the non-combatants and as a fallback position for the wounded. It would also give Miles's team time to get into position.

Charlie and the Nevilles followed the scouting party back to their camp. Duncan greeted her with open arms and a huge hug before even learning of the fate of her mission. Once Charlie updated her fellow leader and friend about the decimated command structure of the Patriot forces, Duncan clapped her on the back and pointed her towards a tent.

"Get some rest, Matheson. You've earned it, and there'll be plenty more to do in the morning."

Charlie nodded and dragged her bone weary body to a tent that Duncan had indicated was all hers. She dropped onto the cot face first and made no effort to get any more comfortable. It wasn't needed. She hadn't realized how physically and emotionally drained she was until the idea of rest had been put in her brain. Her body wanted to pass out immediately, but she couldn't stop her mind from returning to her time in captivity and what she'd done afterward. She had just killed the man claiming to be the President of the United States. This was different than taking out a few dozen nameless Patriot soldiers. Charlotte Matheson was a name that would now go down in history. How that name was remembered would depend entirely on what happened tomorrow morning. Aaron had explained to them from a young age that the winners are the ones that get to write the history books. Win, and she would be a key member of the rebellion that overthrew a tyranny. Lose, and she would be a monster that murdered innocent people. She could imagine it now. She had no doubt that she'd be wedged into a chapter between President Monroe and General Matheson. What literary fodder she would make, sharing blood with the Butcher of Baltimore and having shared a bed with the Scourge of Scranton. She wondered what they'd call her. Maybe it was the exhaustion, but she couldn't come up with anything appropriate that alliterated with East Hampton.

That was when Rachel cautiously entered the tent. Charlie had actually completely forgotten about her mother.

"Charlie…" Rachel's voice was wrought with tears. "You're back. Are you ok? How are you holding up?" The last bit nearly rambled from her mouth.

Charlie put forth an extensive effort and sat up on the bed. Her mother approached timidly and sat next to her. Charlie turned and threw her arms around her. Rachel quickly returned the embrace, stroking a hand through her daughter's hair.

"I'm fine, Mom. Just trying to figure out how I'll be remembered if we don't win tomorrow. What do you think they'll go with, Horror of the Hamptons or Nightmare of New York?" Charlie tried to lighten the mood, but her mother just looked at her with a bit of shock and concern.

She really wished Miles was here. She knew her mother supported her, but the way she was looking at her still stung. She didn't need Rachel's weird cross of judgment and pity. She needed Miles to pat her head, hand her a flask, and solemnly tell her that she did good. Though even that still made her feel like a child. A thought emerged unbidden from a dark quiet corner of her mind, and she knew what she really wanted in that moment. She wanted to stare into a pair of blue eyes that read all the way down to her bruised and tarnished soul and understood. She needed that silent connection that would end with Sebastian Monroe taking her wildly against whatever flat surface they could find, allowing her to just forget herself for as long as it would take her to feel sane and whole again. Unfortunately, she knew that wouldn't be happening ever again.

"Why are you still wearing that?" Rachel's voice broke Charlie from her rapidly escalating fantasy.

Charlie was confused for a moment before she realized that she'd begun subconsciously spinning the ring on her finger again, and her mother had noticed.

She was about to get defensive and give the standard answer of wanting to keep it safe until she could give it back, but she was too tired to defend or explain herself to anyone, let alone her mother, tonight. "Don't know." She answered through a yawn before crashing onto her side on the cot, head on her pack as a pillow and knees pulled up into fetal position.

"Well, if you're already worried what the history books are going to say about you if we lose tomorrow, probably best not to lose wearing a wedding ring inscribed to Mrs. Monroe."

Charlie looked at her mother, completely confused as to how she could know about the inscription on the inside of the band.

Rachel answered without Charlie having to voice the question. "I was there, with him and Miles when the coroner gave it back to him. It wasn't always… there was a time when I considered him a friend."

All Charlie could do was mutely look up at her mother.

"So if you're going to keep on wearing it, I suggest that tomorrow we don't lose." Rachel smiled down at her and smoothed her wavy locks one last time before getting up ad walking to the entrance of the tent.

Charlie nodded. "Goodnight Mom."

"Goodnight Charlie."

She was asleep within seconds, with her mother's words ringing in her ears. Don't lose.

The camp was up before dawn. There was a pre-battle tension that hung in the air, though you'd never know it looking at Duncan. She was wandering amongst the groups of fighters, reminding everyone of their tasks, and teasing and laughing with them all. It did seem to lighten everyone's spirits. It was so different than Miles's somber silences the came before a big fight. Charlie had to admit that she found it more comforting than her austere uncle's usual routine. Or maybe she just needed to find something comforting, since he wasn't there.

Charlie dressed, checked and rechecked all her weapons, and strapped them all on in the most convenient and unobtrusive ways possible. All told she had her crossbow, an AK 47, three hand guns, a sword, and more knives hidden on her person than she could remember.

Duncan was just striding past her tent as Charlie stepped out. "Rambo chic." She smiled at Charlie. "It works on you."

Charlie laughed. "Here's hoping it works _for_ me too."

"True story, girl. You eat yet?"

Charlie gave a little head shake, and Duncan dragged her off to get some food.

"An army fights on their stomach." Duncan extoled over a mouth full of roasted chicken.

Charlie was pretty sure she'd heard Miles say that at some point. Though she was convinced that if they were assigning importance to organs… Miles's liver probably ran the show, as he usually drank his breakfast before a big fight. Or before a small fight. Or pretty much anything, actually.

"You look worried, kid. Why you lookin' worried?" Duncan asked, actual concern thinly veiled behind bravado.

"Just weird to be going into a battle without Miles. Haven't done it before." Charlie shrugged and continued to pick at her food.

"Well, I've done if a hundred times or more, and I've come out ok." Duncan smiled at her, and Charlie couldn't help but find it infectious. "And don't worry. You'll see him soon enough." Then Duncan dropped her plate and stood up, sticking a hand out toward Charlie to pull her to her feet. "Speaking of which, it's time for us to get going so that we do meet up with him on time."

Charlie took the extended hand and stood as well. Duncan walked toward where someone had tacked up their horses for them, and Charlie followed. They each pulled themselves into their saddle, and Duncan let out a cry at the top of her lungs, "Let's go kick some Patriot ass!" The crowd began erupting in waves around her that rippled outward through the camp, and she added "Move out!"

Duncan and Charlie rode at the front of the pack. Much to her surprise, Tom Neville actually trotted his horse up to ride just off Charlie's right shoulder.

"Tom." Charlie nodded her head in an almost courteous greeting.

"General Matheson." He said it with only a hint of a sarcastic sneer.

"Whatcha doin' up here, Neville?" Duncan asked, her voice a little skeptical.

"Let's all be honest. Something happens to this girl before her uncle manages to lay eyes on her, we all know it'll be my ass getting blamed."

"So, you're what? Offering yourself up as a human shield?" Duncan smirked.

"Hardly." Neville rolled his eyes. "I'm just here to make sure you two yahoo cowgirls don't do something stupid in the first two minutes and get yourselves dead."

Charlie looked over with a wicked smile. "Admit it, Tom. You just want to be able to say you rode in at the front with the leaders when they tell this story a hundred years from now."

His silent sneer was all the confirmation she needed. All that man ever wanted was for the rest of the world to think as highly of him as he did himself.

They rode on until just before dawn, when they reached the checkpoint where she and Tom had taken out the guards the previous night. It was deserted. The Patriot forces had fallen back even further than they had anticipated.

"Well, I'm gonna take that as a good sign." Duncan smiled and sent a pair of scouts on ahead to locate their quarry. "Either they don't have the numbers we thought, or your little stunt scared them so shitless, they're all huddled together wetting themselves clear back in the Hamptons."

"I wouldn't get too optimistic just yet." Neville countered. "There's still plenty of real estate between here and where we came from. Our intelligence about their numbers wasn't wrong. I'd be afraid they have a contingency plan." His voice was ominous.

For the first time that morning, Charlie started to feel a sense of dread welling up in her. If the Patriots did have some big master backup plan in play, it could be a disaster. This plan hinged on chaos and disorganization. Take that element out of their favor, and the Patriot's superior numbers could make this a massacre. She just nodded, but didn't voice her worry. No point in it until they knew for sure.

The group set out again and had been traveling east for an hour when the scouts finally reported back. The first sign of Patriot troops was a small garrison about two miles ahead. Beyond that, they'd set up a perimeter with bunkers and barbed wire, and everything that Charlie feared. They were using an old airport as their forward line.

Forcefully shoving all her fears down, she and Duncan gave to order to move out, and they continued in the direction of what would become their battle theatre.

…..

Matheson's Militia easily decimated the small garrison outside the Patriot perimeter. It was almost too easy, and that left Charlie on edge. They had stopped their advance once they were just in sight of the clearing that contained the airfield and the Patriot encampment. They may have pushed back much further east along the island than they had expected, but their base was patrolled, orderly, and ready for them.

"That's a lot of men." Charlie stated, trying not to let her concern bleed through into her voice.

"And that's not all of them." Neville hissed. "We need to be careful. This stinks of being a trap."

Charlie actually agreed with Neville. She fished out a map from her pack and spread it out on the ground between her, Duncan, and Neville. The eastern tip of the island forked around the Great Peconic Bay. The finger of land trailing northeast lead to Plum Island, and the slip of land to the southeast went to the Hamptons. This base was just past the divide on the southern fork.

"What are the chances they've got reinforcements up there?" Charlie pointed to the northern fork on the map. "Just waiting until we commit, to then drop in behind us."

"I wouldn't bet against you on that one." Duncan agreed.

"So what are we going to do about it?" Neville seemed to be nearly in his element again, plotting and conniving.

Charlie waited, but no one spoke. That was when she realized that they were waiting for her. That was when it finally sunk in. She was in charge. "Matheson's Militia" wasn't just referring to Miles anymore. She knew what she wanted to do, but then she was hit with the realization that suddenly lives were hanging in the balance and would certainly be lost because of the orders she wanted to give. She had just gotten used to taking lives, if that was possible. She wasn't sure she was ready to start sending men, good men, _her_ men, to their deaths.

"It's your call, boss." Duncan put a hand on her arm supportively.

That broke Charlie out of her panic. She took a deep breath, and reminded herself that she was a god damned Matheson. This was in her blood. It was her birthright. She would do what needed to be done, because that's who she was, who her family was.

"Duncan, you take the first, fourth, and sixth battle groups, back track the way we came, and go hit those suckers before they realize what's coming. In the meantime, I'll lead two and three in on the base as a diversion. Five and seven stay back to hold the line and provide reinforcements. Hopefully Miles will be hitting the base from the other side at about the same time. We'll lead them and he'll drive them back to the area where we took the garrison." She pointed to the corresponding area on the map near where the island forked. "You draw yours down to that spot as well, and we'll make it a fair fight. All our forces against all of theirs."

"Fair isn't usually the goal in these types of things." Neville added snidely.

"Well, it is today." Charlie snapped back.

"So those are your orders, General?" Duncan looked at Charlie with a smile.

"Those are my orders." Charlie looked up and forced a small smile in return.

"Yessir." Duncan saluted jokingly and turned on her heel. "Alright boys! Marco, Trigger, Hastings, get your men and follow me."

Neville looked like he was about to make some kind of remark, but Charlie cut him off with a glare that she was sure, based on his sudden submission, eerily resembled Miles.

Charlie sat and watched the comings and goings of the hastily constructed base. Her scouts reported back with information about potential weak points and entry points on the perimeter. Charlie let her plan of "attack the base" gain more and more detail as they waited. She talked with all of the commanders under her, talked with her family, hell, she even talked with Neville about strategy as they waited. She was really sick of waiting. One way or another, by the time the sun went down that night, their war with the Patriots would be over. She just really wanted to get on with it already. She could tell that the Patriots knew they were there. They were all just waiting for the other to make the first move.

The sun was a few degrees past being directly overhead when a rider sped into their camp and told Charlie that Duncan and the men had engaged a group of Patriots. They were about two thousand strong, but the six hundred men Duncan had with her had surprise on their side and were mowing through them at the time the rider was dispatched. Charlie thanked him and dismissed him. She knew Neville was staring at her, but she took a moment to breathe and collect herself. No more waiting.

All eyes were suddenly on Charlie as she walked over and began to mount her horse. She was about to swing her leg up over the horse's back, when she heard a loud crack and felt herself being ripped from the saddle. The horse bolted as more shots rang out. Charlie was still trying to figure out what had happened as she looked up and saw Tom Neville standing defensively above her, blood pouring from a bullet wound in his left thigh. He took a shot and a Patriot in camouflage fatigues fell from a branch in a nearby tree. Then Tom crumpled to his knees and then a sitting position on the ground next to her.

"What the hell, Tom?" She spat out as she instinctively started putting pressure on the wound just above his knee.

"Saw a flash off his sight as you were mounting up." His voice was strained, and he was obviously in a good deal of pain.

"You took a bullet for me?" She was still almost in shock.

"It wasn't exactly my intention to get shot in the endeavor." He groused.

A medic team, fortunately not including her mother, arrived at Charlie's side and took over the job of applying pressure to the wound. As they placed a tourniquet and helped him to his feet with a man under each arm, Charlie called out, "Thank you."

"You're still a pain in the ass, but you're not... I couldn't stand by and watch again." He ground through his teeth as he was escorted back toward the rest of the medical personnel.

She was still rather flabbergasted as a young man brought her horse back to her. "You ok, ma'am?"

Charlie dusted herself off. "Yes. Yes I am." She left the "thanks to Tom Neville" part unsaid. That was honestly more unsettling than the fact that a Patriot had taken a pot shot at her.

Again sensing that everyone's eyes were on her, she knew that she couldn't seem disturbed by the assassination attempt. She got on her horse, steadied the nervous animal as best she could, and looked out over the hundreds of men awaiting her orders. "You all know your orders. It's time. On my lead, move out!" She spun the horse around and they charged toward the compound.

The mass of men separated into groups and rushed forward in their attack. There was firing from every direction, and Charlie couldn't help but feel that it was just dumb luck as to which of them made it across that field. They were at the gates and the barbed wire. With one squad providing cover fire, lines were quickly tied from the horses' saddles to the fence and the animals sent running in a single direction. It pulled apart the hastily assemble chain link and then the fighting spilled into and out of the allocated area.

Charlie had quickly abandoned her horse, feeling far more confident in her fighting skills with her feet solidly on the ground. She couldn't help but notice that her troops had formed a nearly protective flanking formation around her. She let a few arrows fly from her crossbow, taking out whichever enemy combatants she could get a clear shot on, as the fighting waged on around her. A tan-clad soldier broke through the ranks and Charlie drew her sword. They parried briefly before Charlie saw an opening and drew her sword along his abdomen and chest, spilling blood and other things that Charlie made a point not to look at as he collapsed to the ground. While she didn't take pleasure in killing, she couldn't deny that it felt good to actually be doing something.

They had pushed well within the Patriot camp, but Charlie made sure to keep calling out orders, ensuring that they stayed spread out enough to not get boxed in. They were significantly outnumbered, but they were holding up well. Her men were clearly the superior fighters.

The fighting had gone on for what felt like hours, but had realistically been only thirty minutes or so, when a sudden surge of Patriots came at them. Except they were out of formation and they looked terrified instead of aggressive. Miles's team had arrived at the other side of the compound.

"Fall back!" Charlie ordered, and the word slowly spread through the ranks. They slowly pulled back their position and then seemed to retreat, drawing the Patriot soldiers west with them to the spot Charlie had designated. It was a rather lengthy retreat, but when they arrived at the site of the garrison they had overthrown earlier that day, they were greeted by the sight of Duncan's teams and they two groups they'd left in reserve forming a sound perimeter and mopping up what little remained of the group of Patriots Duncan had gone to ambush. As the Militia units reunited, they regrouped and Charlie again took stock of the situation as the Patriot forces came into view. They may have had the tactical advantage associated with their location now, but they were still going to be outnumbered at least three to one. Her men did seem to be better fighters, and these were the odds they had assumed that they'd face. The playing field was now level. It was all up to who wanted it more at this point.

As the Patriot forces crested a small hill and began to reengage with the Militia soldiers, Charlie couldn't help but take in the scale of the fight. It stretched as far as she could see, and then she knew it went beyond that in each direction. It was all a bit overwhelming. There was a brief moment where she almost lost her nerve, but then she saw a group on horseback chasing the Patriots into the waiting dragnet. It was Miles, and suddenly everything felt like it would be ok.

Charlie gave quick glances to their defensive line, where her mother worked to treat the injured in the medical tent they'd assembled and even Aaron was contributing by keeping watch from atop an old fire tower that had once looked for wildfires within the pre-blackout wildlife preserve they had chosen as their battleground. Seeing them alright and spotting Duncan finishing off two attackers not too far away from her current position, Charlie dove back into the fray.

She'd used her assault rifle mostly laying down cover fire on the initial attack. She fired off the last few rounds she had, used the stock to knock a man unconscious, and then discarded the dead weight. She fired a few rounds from one of her hand guns, but soon found the fighting descending on her location, and the firearm wasn't a great help in such close quarters. She used a knife to slit one man's throat as he's stumbled in reloading his gun, then lodged it squarely in the back of another one that was wrestling one of her men on the ground near her feet. She helped the Militia member to his feet and drew her sword. She cut a swath through the advancing men that initially vastly underestimated the amount of damage that a little girl with a sword could do. She looked up from a kill as she pulled her sword out of a man's chest just in time to block another attack. She cut that man down too after a few strokes and was surprised to see Miles staring down at her from a few feet away, having just dispatched his own group of Patriots.

"Hangin' in there kiddo?" Miles yelled as he began to clash blades with another patriot.

"Doin' alright." She panted back as she began her assault on her own new set of victims.

"Looks like you're doin' a lot better than alright." He added as two of the three men that had set on her dropped to the ground.

"I know what I'm doing. Somebody taught me pretty well." She smiled as she impaled the last of her Patriots.

"Aww stop. You're gonna make me cry." Miles teased back sarcastically as he took the head off of a man coming at him. They both laughed before diving in opposite directions to help soldiers getting pinned down by Patriots.

Charlie just kept fighting as hard as she could. She used her sword, knives, hands, feet, whatever she needed to, to stay on top. Miles had taught her technique and skills, but she found herself frequently calling on the things that she'd picked up in her time training with Bass as she fought her way through the closed in mass of bodies. He'd shown her how to be scrappy and unpredictable, how to fight dirty and turn a disadvantage, like height or size, into an advantage. Both her mentors had taught her well.

She was well out within the bulk of bodies shoving and slashing at each other. She'd tried to keep an eye out for her family and the commanders that she knew, to gauge how the fighting was going and to make sure that her family was safe. Duncan had been doing well enough, but favoring a shoulder slightly when she'd last seen her, though that was a while ago. The fighting still seemed to be far enough away from their rear lines that her mom and Aaron were likely safe, but she could tell that the battle was moving slowly but steadily in that direction. They couldn't let themselves get overrun. Charlie fought hard against her attackers, but for every one that she put down, another two or three would come at her. She was starting to get tired and she knew it. Her opponents were sneaking in more and more lucky shots against her, and she was sporting the bruises to prove it. She worried that this she couldn't go on much longer. It was both amazing and horrifying that it took so little time for thousands of people to die. She just had to hope that a disproportionate number of that body count was coming from the other team.

Then a body slammed up against her back, Charlie whirled, knife in hand, but recognized the man behind her before she had made a move to stab at him.

"Charlie." Marco sounded relieved. "Have you seen Duncan?"

"Not lately." Charlie answered as she fought off another Patriot in front of her.

"She was trying to make her way over to the left flank, was worried that they were getting overrun, but she never made it over there. They're in trouble." He sounded worried about the battle as well as his polyamorous wife.

"Then you get over there and back them up…" Charlie started then froze as she felt him collapse against her back. She kicked at the Patriot in front of her, sending him sprawling back a few steps and giving her a second to turn and see Marco slumping to the ground, a Patriot's bayonet in his lower abdomen.

"Marco!" She yelled as she pulled a handgun and put a bullet in the head of the Patriot at the other end of the bayonet. Then she turned back just in time to see the man she'd been fighting charging back at her. She side stepped out of the way of his sword and felt Marco fall to the ground at her feet. She fired another round at the Patriot attacking her and he dropped. Her clip was empty and she discarded the gun before kneeling to try and help Marco to his feet. She dipped under his arm and tried to half carry him, put pressure on the wound, and one-handed fight off attackers as they limped toward the edge of the battle.

She screamed for a medic, but they were too far in the fighting for her cries to carry, and it wasn't like any of them could have made it safely to their position any way.

"Charlie, go." Marco coughed out. "Leave me and keep fighting. We can't lose you." He pulled his sword and valiantly shoved her away as he dove into a cluster of Patriot soldiers as started weakly swinging.

She was about to dive after him when a hand grabbed her arm and yanked her roughly in the other direction. She spun and just barely managed to miss impaling herself on the end of a machete held by the Patriot gripping her arm. She quickly dropped to the ground and rolled, using his hold on her to throw him off balance and stumbling to his knees. She was on her feet and behind him, slitting his throat before he knew what had hit him. Then she was on her knees next to the prone body, a boot having made solid contact with her lower back. She felt the man advance on her and grab her hair. She sent her head flying backwards as hard as she could, crashing her skull into his groin. In his moment of pain induced hesitation she rolled to her side and landed on her back. She hurled herself forward onto her feet in a crouched position and threw a knife that lodged right in his neck before he crumpled to the ground.

She looked back desperately for Marco, but couldn't see him. The ground beneath her feet was starting to turn into a hellish dark mud from all the blood that had spilled in the small area. As she'd looked around, she realized that they were getting far too close to their rear defenses. Despite her best efforts, they were about to be overrun. That would be disastrous for them. If the Patriot forces managed to get past and evacuate the area, they could take all the time they wanted to sit back, lick their wounds, and rebuild their army. They had to keep them contained and they had to finish them today. She looked around to find Miles, sure that he would be aware of the unfolding situation and already taking steps to quash it. Her heart sank when she finally found him. He was a hundred or so meters away, surrounded by a group of at least seven or eight Patriots that seemed to be taunting him.

Her voyeurism of the terrible scene unfolding out of her reach was interrupted by a body slamming into her. She dropped her sword with the force of the impact, and it started to disappear into the muck at her feet. The Patriot only managed to land one of three blows he aimed for her, and she was able to fend him off rather well, but she was distracted. She kept trying to see what was happening to Miles as she fought off the unarmed man in hand-to-hand combat. Her heart stopped when she saw the Patriot in front of Miles step into the ring of soldiers around him, holding a gun aimed straight at his chest.

"MILES!" Charlie screamed at the top of her lungs as the man fired and a bullet hit its mark. She saw his left shoulder fling back with the momentum of the shot. He staggered briefly, then dropped to his knees. The hundreds of bodies between them blocked her view of what happened next. Charlie panicked. She couldn't lose Miles.

She screamed his name again, and dropped to her knees. Miraculously, her hand grazed across the mud laden hilt of her sword. She grabbed it and came back up to her feet swinging with a roar. Her blade slashed along the chest of the Patriot she was fighting. Her foe fell to the ground, but before she could begin to run toward the place where her uncle had dropped, she felt a shallow slash across her left shoulder from behind her and another knife wielding Patriot appeared in front of her. She swung her sword low, deeply lacerating the thigh of the one in front. Then, while he bent to clutch at his disabled leg, she spun and parried another sword blow from the one behind her. She dove to put the crippled Patriot with the thigh wound between herself and the swordsman. As the injured one dropped to his knees, a wild blow from the other patriot aimed for Charlie missed its mark and split open his face. He fell prone onto the ground as the sword wielder continued to advance on her. They clashed blades again and again until she eventually disarmed him. His sword out of reach, the Patriot dove forward out of desperation and tackled her. She got a knife into his side and managed to roll out from underneath the dead weight of his body. But before she could get up, another Patriot had descended upon her. The man had a foot on her chest, pinning her to the ground, and a gun pointed at her head. She clawed at the leg, desperately trying to find some way to dislodge it. But he was putting so much pressure on her chest that she was unable to move her ribs enough to breathe adequately. She felt herself weakening and unable to fight back. She looked up at the gun and realized that this was it.

A thousand thoughts raced through her mind as she realized that this was where she was finally going to die. She'd seen Miles go down. No one had seen Duncan in a while. Their forces were being overpowered. She was going to die and they were still going to lose. At least she would die fighting for what she believed in, and at least she wouldn't be the one to survive when the rest of her family was killed. She didn't think she could take losing them all. So many people had already left her, the ones that she didn't think she could live without. Maybe this was better. Maybe she'd see them again. What had felt like minutes of horrified reasoning had only been a fraction of a second. She clenched her eyes shut and waited for the bullet she knew was coming. She heard the gun fire.

The tension on her chest eased, and she was surprised that she hadn't felt any pain before she'd obviously died. But there was still pain – her scraped knee, the cut on her shoulder, her bruised ribs. If she was dead, why could she still feel? Then she thought she heard something that sounded like hooves thundering around her, but she still couldn't bring herself to open her eyes. This wasn't what dying was supposed to be like.

Then she felt a snort of hot breath and small flecks of dirt hit her face. She opened her eyes to see a dark grey muzzle with a white stripe down the center sniffing at her face. It couldn't be. She raised her hand to touch it, and the horse it was attached to startled backwards a step. She looked up past the horse's head and saw Bass looking worriedly down at her, pistol still in his hand. Turning her head further revealed her attacker crumpled on the ground next to her, a puddle of dark red seeping out from under his chest. She looked back to Bass and found the bright blue pair of eyes scanning over her body.

"You came back." All she could do was stare up at him in shock.

"Charlotte." He suddenly started to dismount.

"Don't. I'm fine." Charlie pleaded as she sat up. "Go help the others."

He stayed seated on the horse, but still looked down at her, unwilling to leave her.

Her eyes darted across the battle field to where she'd seen her uncle fall. "Miles…" Charlie didn't miss the fact that the horse's ears pricked at the name. "He needs help."

Bass understood, and as much as he was loathe to leave her, he nodded and charged into the fray in the direction she'd indicated.

Charlie got back onto her feet, shook herself off, and instantly looked for her family. She saw Aaron grappling with a Patriot in his watch tower before being knocked to the floor. Charlie quickly grabbed her crossbow from the ground, loaded an arrow, and let it fly with deadly accuracy. The man fell to the ground and Aaron quickly stood up. Realizing what type of weapon had bested his attacker, he quickly glanced around and found Charlie. He waved his thanks before urgently pointing behind her. She loaded another arrow as she spun, but there was no need. Her mother was plunging a knife into a soldier that had thought he would get the drop on Rachel Matheson. Her family safe, Charlie more fully took stock of her surroundings. Bass hadn't returned alone. He'd brought the cavalry. At least fifty more armed soldiers on horseback had thundered into the battle theater along with him. They were all young men in their early twenties with impeccable aim and deadly skill. She suspected that Connor wasn't the only super soldier that Bass had liberated.

It was then that Charlie spotted Duncan, not far away, slightly injured but still fighting off three attackers at once. Charlie ran to her assistance. She came up behind one and slit her knife along his throat as she aimed her pistol at another's head and fired at close range. The distraction gave Duncan an advantage, and she jabbed her sword into the remaining soldier's chest.

"Thanks for the assist." Duncan smiled at Charlie.

"Would have jumped in sooner," Charlie smiled at her as they squared up back to back to take on another wave of attackers, "but I thought three guys at once was kinda your thing." They both laughed as they tore through another four men.

While Charlie had looked after her friends, Bass had driven his mount straight through the chaos toward Miles's last location. His sword sliced through Patriots as he went, the large grey stallion trampling any that fell to the ground in front of him. At the focus of the fight was a cluster of Patriots that all seemed fixated on whatever was in the center of their midst. Bass didn't need two guesses to figure out who it would be. The sound of steel on steel clanged violently in a familiar cadence that only confirmed his suspicions. Bass reined the horse up, halting his galloping advance toward the group that had set on Miles like a pack of dogs. He sheathed his sword and pulled the Glock from the holster on his thigh.

When he spurred the horse forward again with his heels, it reared in anticipation, giving Bass a view into the eye of the Patriot hurricane surrounding his best friend. Miles had a bullet wound through his left shoulder, but was still swinging with his right. He was bruised and weakened, and tumbled down onto his knees again as another wave of attackers rained down on him. Bass fired round after round into the portion of the crowd on Miles's right as he charged. A half dozen men fell, many others turned to see the new attacker, and most backed a step away from Miles at the sight of the new threat. Bass barreled through them at nearly full speed, the stallion striking its imposing hooves at anyone within reach, without breaking stride. Miles looked up and recognized his savior about three strides out. As Bass shifted the gun to his left hand and leaned forward with his right arm outstretched, Miles used everything he had left to fling himself back to his feet and reach for Bass's hand. They each grabbed the other's forearm, and using brute strength and the horse's momentum, Bass pulled Miles up onto the stallion's back just behind the saddle. They bolted out of the mass of patriots, Miles clinging to Bass with his only working arm around his chest, as Bass kept taking shots left handed and steered the horse toward safety.

"You always knew how to make an entrance." Miles coughed out jokingly.

Bass smiled. "And I see that your penchant for hair brained suicide missions hasn't really gotten any better over the years. This would have been Trenton all over again if I hadn't gotten here when I did."

"More like Roanoke." Miles laughed.

"Jesus. Roanoke. I'd almost forgotten about that one. Or what about Fort Wayne?"

"That wasn't exactly the Militia's shining moment either." Miles concurred.

"How did we end up ruling _anything_?" Bass laughed as they galloped toward the rebel encampment at the back of the battlefield. He noticed that men in tan uniforms were being encountered less and less frequently, except dead on the ground, as they made their way through the troops.

Duncan and Charlie had cut through an impressive swath of soldiers by the time that Charlie spotted the large grey horse carrying two men across the battle field. Miles was alive and the excited gulp of air that Charlie inhaled felt like the first gasp of oxygen to really reach her lungs since she'd seen him go down. Eventually attackers stopped coming at them, and the two women, as well as most of the other resistance fighters, had to actually search out Patriots to take on. The US forces had been decimated and the number of remaining enemy combatants was shrinking by the second. The battle was coming to a close and they were winning.

There was a decent perimeter established around the medical tent that Rachel was in charge of. She appeared immediately as Bass rode up with Miles clinging to him.

"I think this belongs to you." He joked as Miles slid off the horse's back.

"Miles!" Rachel gasped at the sight of the bullet wound.

"I'll be fine." He grumbled as he tried to brush off her triage evaluation. "It's a through and through. Shoulder's gonna hurt like hell for a bit, but I'll live."

"I'll be the judge of that." She groused at him.

"I'm gonna get back to the war and let you two have your little moment." Bass smirked at the pair as he turned his horse and set off back toward the fighting.

It wasn't long before they had mopped up the remaining Patriot forces. Any of the soldiers that had surrendered were taken into custody unharmed, though there honestly weren't many. The Patriots had done a fair job with their brainwashing, and most of their men were more than willing to die for their cause.

Charlie had returned to the medical tent area to check on Miles, and found him with a sling on one arm and nursing a flask with the other.

"Glad to see you're not letting a little thing like a bullet wound get in the way of your drinking." She smiled at her uncle. He extended his good arm out and pulled her into a half hug.

"Keeping the fun in functioning alcoholic." He smiled at her and rested his cheek against the top of her head. "And it's doctor's orders." He shot a glance over to Rachel, who was hovering nearby. She obviously wanted to embrace her daughter, but understood that the two of them needed a moment first. "Trying to save the morphine and the rest of the good stuff for the injured men that really need it."

She nodded and took a step back from him, giving his injured shoulder an appraising glance.

"I'm fine." He protested. Then his voice became rather serious. "But how are you? I asked more of you this time than I ever should have."

"I'm fine." Her response mirroring his own. "Like I told you before, this isn't my first time toppling a government." She grinned mischievously. "Had plenty of practice trying to assassinate a president last year. This time I just had better aim."

Miles rolled his eyes at her. The irony was a bit much. "Can't say Bass didn't do his part in helping us win this one... in more ways than one."

They both laughed and Rachel took that as her cue to join them. She hugged her daughter and Charlie hugged her back.

"I was so worried about you." Rachel nearly cried into her daughter's hair.

"I'm fine, Mom." Charlie placated. As she looked around at the makeshift hospital, and took in the sight of rows of stretchers and cots holding injured but stabilized men, including a stabilized Marco lying on a cot about four down from Miles. A huge smile crossed her face as Charlie realized how many of the men that had essentially been under her command that her mother had saved while she had been busy doing her part in the war effort. "And look at all you've done. Grandpa would be so proud of you."

At that, both women began to tear up and sniff back sobs.

"Aww, come on…" Miles grumped beside them. "We won. Why is there crying?" When they both turned to look at him, he tipped his head toward Duncan, who was walking through the rows of her wounded and smiling, joking, and teasing each one of the men. "That's how the commanding officers of the winning side are supposed to be acting."

Rachel scoffed at him. "Well I'm not one of your officers. I just stitch them up."

"But Charlie is." Off her surprised look he added, "Just as much as me or Duncan. This wouldn't have happened without her. The men are gonna be looking to you kiddo, so put on a happy face and start acting like we won."

"What can I do?" Charlie seemed a little disquieted by the revelation of her new status in the hierarchy.

"You can come help me look for more survivors." Duncan clapped her on the shoulder. The older woman had a bandage on one forearm and was walking with a slight limp, but seemed to have come through the battle with no serious injuries. "Your mom looks like she's getting bored. Let's go see if there are any other injured folks out there in need of some doctoring to give her something to do."

Charlie shrugged at Miles and Rachel and followed Duncan back out toward the battlefield. They walked in silence for a few minutes and checked pulses on some of the Militia members lying motionless on the ground as they passed.

Finally, Duncan spoke. "So… I'm remembering some story you once told me about that ring on your finger, and I'm going to guess it's no coincidence that our asses were totally rescued by a group of kids busted out of those re-education camps. Was it?"

"Not exactly." A smile pulled Charlie's lips from ear to ear.

"I'm going to assume _he_ is here…"

"Yup." Charlie still just continued to smile.

"You gonna introduce me at some point, or am I just going to have to keep wondering?"

"That depends." Charlie teased.

"On?"

"You're not looking for a fourth husband are you?"

Duncan bumped her shoulder into Charlie's playfully as the two women continued to make their way through the field of dead bodies.

It wasn't a minute later when hoof beats approached the women from behind in a tempo that Charlie found almost familiar. They turned to see Bass ride up on his grey stallion, followed by Connor on an elegant looking bay warmblood.

"That's him?" Duncan whispered through the side of her mouth at Charlie as the men dismounted. "Because four is starting to sound like a nice round number…"

Charlie elbowed her in the gut teasingly.

Duncan was only joking with her. The warlord could tell that the older and oddly familiar looking man's eyes had never left the youngest Matheson from the moment he'd spotted her. Apparently her apprentice hadn't been the only one holding onto a smoldering flame.

Duncan and Connor stood by somewhat awkwardly as Charlie and Bass flung themselves into each other's arms. It was a hell of an embrace, Bass even lifted her off the ground a bit, but Duncan was a little surprised to note that there was no gratuitous groping or explicit tonsil hockey happening. Even after Bass returned Charlie to the ground and they let go of one another, they continued to just stare into each other's eyes as if they couldn't believe that they had actually been reunited.

Duncan coughed loudly to attempt to break the spell they apparently had on each other. Connor smiled at her attempted interruption.

Charlie somewhat sheepishly turned back to Duncan. "Bass, this is Duncan Page, leader of the war clan we joined up with in West Virginia last year."

Duncan extended out a hand, "Though now I guess I'm just another officer in, what are they calling it, Matheson's Militia."

Bass shook her hand, but balked slightly at the reference to the name of the new armed forces.

"You got some kind of problem with all this being named after your girl and her uncle?" Duncan had misinterpreted his falter and was getting defensive of her friend.

"Not at all. It's got a nice ring to it. Should have gone with it the first time." He raised an eyebrow playfully at Charlie.

Now it was Duncan's turn to look confused.

Charlie spoke up, "Duncan, meet Sebastian Monroe."

Duncan's mouth nearly hit the floor. Then she instantly broke into a fit of deep side splitting laughter. Doubled over and bracing her hands on her thighs for support she finally laughed out, "Shit girl, when you said 'it's complicated', you weren't kidding."

Charlie just smiled and shrugged.

"And while we're doing introductions," Bass chimed in, "Connor, this is Charlie Matheson."

"Hi Charlie." He seemed slightly skittish and stand-offish. "Sorry about what happened in New Mexico. I wasn't…"

"Don't worry about it." Charlie smiled genuinely at him. "If I had a diamond for every time a Monroe tried to kill me and lived to regret it…" She gave Bass a taunting half grin half glare.

Then he was looking down into her eyes and they both kind of got stuck like that.

"Hey Connor," Duncan piped up. "Looks like these two have got some catching up to do. How 'bout you help me see if we got any of our guys out here in need of medical attention."

"Yeah. That'll work." Connor seemed thrilled at an excuse to escape the awkward situation unfolding before them. He and Duncan walked off, leaving Charlie and Bass alone.

"I see you kept the horse after all." She teased.

"Look at him." Bass patted the muscular dappled grey shoulder beside him. "How could I not?" Then, as if seeming to remember something, he added, "Oh yeah. Billy and Leanne send their best."

"You went back to Churchill Downs?" Charlie questioned.

"Where do you think we got all the horses from?" He smiled. "Turns out they didn't give a crap who we actually were. They liked us better than the Patriots any way and offered whatever they could to help us."

"That's a lot of horses." Charlie realized as she looked around at their forces scattering around. "How many people did you bring with you?"

"Sixty-four at last count. To get to Connor I had to take out his whole unit. Once Connor came around, he explained what they'd been through, that none of them wanted to be there. We were able to un-brainwash the other three kids in his unit and then went from there. We took out the base in Oakland and rescued another fifteen or so kids. Got twenty when we took out the camp the set up in Willoughby."

"Willoughby?" Charlie questioned nostalgically.

"Yeah. Patriots did a number on that place. Not sure if it was retribution for everything we did, or if it was their plan all along."

Charlie just nodded.

"There was another camp in Baton Rouge, and we picked up a few more kids along the way when their attempts to ambush us failed. We were almost seventy strong by the time we made it to Lexington. Couldn't help but notice that Patriots suddenly started getting scarce over the last couple weeks. Figured something big was going down and we better hurry up and find you all."

"Guess Neville was wrong. Looks like there are still plenty of people willing to follow Sebastian Monroe."

"Kinda reminded me of the early days after the blackout. Just me and Miles against the world, picking up stragglers wherever we went." He patted the horse's shoulder again.

"I knew it." She smiled at him and held out a hand for the horse to sniff. He nuzzled the outstretched palm with his velvety soft upper lip, then stuck his tongue out to swipe along the salty skin and make absolutely certain that the proffered hand wasn't holding any kind of treat. Charlie retracted the hand and wiped the slobber off on her jeans. "When we passed the stables on our way out of DC and he wasn't there, I knew you'd taken him. Then Miles was all grumpy at everyone and I knew there was only one thing you would have called your new best friend."

Bass shrugged, a little surprised that she'd been able to get that far into his mind to read him that well.

They both got suddenly quiet and a little pensive as their thoughts drifted back to the events of the night he left. Each's stare had drifted down to the mud beneath their boots as their insecurities warred with their instinctual desires. Summoning their courage, they both looked up at each other and spoke at the same time.

"Charlie…"

"Bass…"

Bass cocked his head to the side, giving her the floor to speak first.

"You came back. Again." Her voice was small and unsteady. If his response indicated that he'd come back to fight the Patriots or to help Miles it would probably break her.

"I'm a man of my word." He said softly and slowly lifted a hand to her cheek. His thumb delicately traced along her cheekbone as she leaned into his palm. "And I made you a promise."

Her eyes drifted shut and she let out a soft little moan as the meaning of his admission and the tenderness of his callused skin on her face made her knees start to feel weak. She reached out and grabbed his arms to brace herself. She'd thought that she'd never feel those biceps underneath her fingers or wrapped around her again, but there they were. Everyone leaves her, but no matter the obstacles, whatever the stakes, against all odds, he always managed to come back. She opened her eyes again and looked to his. His stare, however, was focused down where her left hand was grasping his right arm, and she realized what had caught his attention. The gold band was still on her ring finger.

He lifted his gaze and met her eyes. If she wasn't mistaken there may actually have been some moisture welling up in them. This time she didn't doubt that it as real.

"I missed you." She murmured as he reached his other hand up so that he was now cupping her face.

He took a step in toward her until their bodies were flush against each other, and he sighed. "I missed you too."

…..

"So, Tom." Miles took a sip of whiskey from the flask in his good hand as he approached, the other man propped up on a crutch and looking out over the battle field with pride. "Looks like you were wrong."

"About what? Today was an unqualified victory."

"That it was." Miles nodded and took another hit from the flask. "But do you see what I see?" He put his right arm around the man's shoulder and looked out over the carnage strewn battlefield to where Bass was awkwardly standing with Charlie's cheeks cupped in his hands, a large grey horse pawing at the ground nearby.

At Neville's still confused look, Miles summarized, "We would have been done for if Bass hadn't come back with all those kids he un-re-educated."

Tom just sneered, not willing to verbally admit that Monroe had saved the day.

"Why do you think he did that, Tom? What do you think is the one thing that brought him back here, ready to risk his own neck and fight like hell? I mean if you were going to credit one thing with being what ultimately led to unraveling these bastards, what would it be?"

Neville watched as Bass leaned down and appeared to lock lips with Miles's troublesome niece, calling to mind the snarky comment he'd made to Miles when they'd first arrived in DC. He rolled his eyes and sighed, "A little blonde girl with a crossbow."

Miles slapped Tom's back hard, but still in a jovial spirit.

Neville muttered disgustedly under his breath and limped away.

"Yup. Still a dick." Miles said to himself before looking back to where Bass and Charlie were now gratuitously making out. He shook his head and downed a few more gulps from his flask before turning away.

…..

That night, as their forces celebrated in the beachfront mansions, the architects of the war that defeated the Patriots met in an empty pool house to decide the fate of the new nation. Miles, Rachel, Aaron, Charlie, Bass, Duncan, and Tom stood around the lamp-lit space and decided to address the elephant in the room.

"What do we do now?" Charlie asked.

"We install a leader." Neville answered matter-of-factly. The response caused Miles and Bass to both visibly flinch.

"A temporary leader that will support the country until it is organized enough to hold real elections again." Rachel insisted.

"Which of you idiots is gonna take that job?" Duncan laughed. When the crowd looked to her with confusion she added, "I sure as hell don't want it. I'll stay and help you guys get this all sorted here for a while, but then me and mine are heading back west. You're gonna need all the help you can get trying to civilize the Plains and keep them in line. I figure that's where I can help best."

"Well I think we can all agree who we're not voting for this time." Neville shot Bass an icy glare.

"President Monroe was executed back in Texas, and I have no desire to resurrect him." Bass admitted honestly.

"I think both of us are officially retired from the political arena." Miles offered.

They could all see Tom nearly salivating at the power vacuum before him.

"I don't think anyone associated with the Republic should be the leader." Rachel voiced her opinion matter-of-factly. "You three can all serve important roles in a support capacity, but it needs to be abundantly clear to the public that this is not the Monroe Republic all over again."

Charlie chimed in next. "Together we can do things the right way this time. We've all proven that no one in this room can do it on their own. If we all actually help each other, maybe we can fix things… make up for everything that we've done wrong up to now."

"That your nomination speech kiddo?" Miles asked jokingly.

"No way!" Charlie sounded revolted by the idea.

"Then who exactly are you proposing we let run this little political science experiment?" Neville sneered.

Rachel smiled as she answered. "It should be a civilian, but still someone with close ties to the leaders of the military so that they can collaborate effectively. Somebody with a conscience that is going to put the needs of the people first. And somebody with experience working with a motivating people. Someone like, say, a cofounder and executive of a Forbes five hundred company that was consistently voted the best company to work for in the country before the blackout."

Aaron slowly lifted his head from where he'd been disinterestedly staring at the ground. He was a little creeped out to find that the entire room full of people were now staring at him.

"President Google does have a bit of a ring to it." Bass smirked.

"Wait… what?" Aaron stuttered.

Rachel looked determined, Charlie was beaming at him with one of her radiant smiles that reached all the way through her eyes, Miles shrugged in acceptance, Bass was smirking, Duncan was laughing, and though Neville still seemed disappointed, he made no attempt to dissent.

"Then I think we're all in agreement?" Rachel asked.

"No. No, I don't think we are. I can't be _President_!" Aaron objected.

Everyone else in the room nodded. "So then it's official. Congratulations Aaron Pittman. You are now the President of the United States of America." Rachel smiled.

Charlie hugged him. When she released him, Bass clapped him on the shoulder. "I've been there man. I'm happy to give you any advice I can."

"And anything he tells you, I think we all know that you should just do the opposite." Miles smiled and patted Aaron on the back.

"Congratulations, Mr. President." Neville sneered.

"Fine." Aaron muttered. "But as payback for this, you're all on my cabinet."

…..

Charlie had managed to catch a few hours of sleep after the events in the pool house. It had been quite a day, and there were celebrations everywhere that lasted through the night. She'd woken at dawn as the last of the celebrations had trickled to a stop and the few conscious occupants of the camp were stumbling to their dwellings to sleep off the night's endeavors. There was every reason to celebrate. They'd defeated the Patriots. All of her inner circle had miraculously survived the final battle. Bass had come back. Aaron was the President of the United States. Aaron Pittman. Aaron that had considered reading Harry Potter and discussing why the blackout had happened with six through fourteen year olds as an appropriate school curriculum. She should be worried about that, but she wasn't. For all his faults, when Charlie thought about Aaron, the one memory that overshadowed everything was the way he looked standing at the entrance to Sylvania Estates with his pack and a mortified but determined look on his face as he insisted that he would be accompanying her to Chicago. She'd never met anyone with a bigger heart. He was going to be a leader unlike anything the country had seen in her life time. Charlie snorted as she thought about the country's forefathers that preceded Aaron. The chortle garnered her the attention of her companion.

She was sitting close to the beach, near where an all too familiar grey horse was tethered to a piece of drift wood and munching on the sea grass growing amongst the dunes. She'd begun absent mindedly tearing at stalks of the tall slender grass around her as her mind wandered to the horse's owner. Seemingly noticing the small pile of forage Charlie was accumulating while deep in thought, Miles, the horse, had drifted closer and closer to her until he was nibbling at the discarded grass blades at her side. Her snort caused him to perk to attention and inspect her closely, as if not entirely convinced she wasn't a threat. After a few seconds' evaluation, he returned to his grazing.

She knew that sitting on the ground within feet of a stallion's hooves was not the safest place to be, but somehow Charlie could just sense that no matter how dangerous the creature could be in battle, he wouldn't do her any harm. Which seemed awfully fitting, because didn't they say something about a well matched horse and rider simply being an extension of each other? Bass. Her thoughts had been nearly unable to settle on any other topic for more than seconds at a time since she'd seen him hovering above her on the battle field. He'd come back. Just as he'd promised. Then he'd kissed her. And what a kiss it had been. Charlie's cheeks subconsciously flushed at the memory. She could feel his worn and callused hands gently cupping her cheeks as he'd slowly leaned in and claimed her mouth. The memory was vivid enough that her lips tingled just the way they had when his tongue had parted them and slipped past to explore her mouth.

_She'd moaned into the kiss as she'd wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He'd pulled her to him and slid one of his hands along her neck to entwine his fingers in the hair at the base of her scalp as the other trailed down to gently grip her waist. Everything else was forgotten as the kiss deepened, everyone around them, the battlefield they stood in the middle of, even the need to breathe. Though, all those things had caught up with them soon enough. Oxygen deprivation had eventually trigged the instinctual need for air, forcing their mouths to unwillingly pull apart. He'd rested his forehead on hers as they both gulped down air. _

_Looking into her eyes, he smiled and spoke between panting breaths. "We never got to talk… about what happened… before I left… what it meant." He'd taken her left hand in his right and she felt him playing with the band still on her ring finger._

_She suddenly felt a knot forming in her stomach. What had it meant? She may have replayed the events of that night over and over in her head so many times that she couldn't even pretend to be able to count them, but in terms of what it had really meant… She'd probably been more clear on that topic the night it happened than she was after 9 months of contemplation. She hadn't been lying to Duncan all those months before when she'd told her that she didn't know why she was still wearing his ring. Her only hope was that they could figure it out together from here on out, now that the fighting was over._

_Before she could voice any of this, one of Bass's cavalry members rode up and began to address him as if it weren't completely obvious that he was in the middle of something private. The message was from Miles, something urgent about prisoners that they had taken at the end of the fight. As much as he did not want to leave Charlie, he knew that there was an importance in the leaders appearing unified at those moments so soon after their victory. He had to go. Though he also secretly wondered if the summons had something to do with the public display of affection he'd just trespassed on the other man's niece._

"_Looks like it's going to be a little longer before we get to have that talk." He smiled down at her as he disentangled himself from her and took a step back._

_All Charlie could do was smile back nod. Once again, this war was coming between them._

"_Your presence was requested too, Commander Matheson."_

_Charlie looked around for a second, unsure of whom the rider was addressing, before realizing that he had meant her._

_Bass beamed at her and all she could do was shrug and follow along as Bass collected his horse's dangling reins and led them back toward the area that had become their command center._

Charlie sighed at the memory. She had no idea where this was all going. They'd spent the entire afternoon dealing with the captured prisoners, sending out messengers to spread the word of their victory, cataloguing the injured and fallen, informing families, and doing all the other important things that leaders had to do. She watched Miles and Bass do it all like it was old habit. Her normally stoic uncle was reverent and sympathetic as he informed the families of each of the men and women that had perished under his command of their loved ones' fates. Even though Bass hadn't known a single one of the men, he was at Miles's side the entire time and would empathically console the grieving widows, widowers, and orphans.

Neville may have believed that the two men before her had taken over a corner of the continent all those years ago by brute force and grief crazed aggression, but Charlie knew better. That may have been what maintained the Monroe Republic as its leaders crumbled under the pressure of running a government they were ill suited for, however, she had no doubt that it was the compassion and loyalty she was watching exude from the older Generals that had brought their nation together initially.

Then they'd held their meeting in the pool house, which had lasted well into the night. They'd all spent a couple hours trying to convince Aaron to celebrate his new post as they announced it to the camp. Ultimately it had been a losing battle, as the man was already too busy trying figure out how to make sure that he could make the country ready to elect somebody different as soon as possible. But in that time, Bass was getting pulled in a dozen different directions. The rescued boys that had become his men continued to look to him, he was trying to spend time with Connor, and Miles seemed to be enjoying pumping whiskey into his old friend at a rate that was bound to have them both unconscious before long. Charlie had hung back and given him space. More like she'd given herself space. Duncan had attempted to broach the topic a few times during the festivities, but she was also rather inebriated and was easily distracted by her intoxicated and amorous husbands. So Charlie had snuck away from the celebrations early and had actually enjoyed a few peaceful hours of sleep in one of the bedrooms in the house associated with the pool house, which her family had claimed for the night.

She'd woken well before anyone else, having drunken far less and gotten to bed far earlier. The solitude was a peaceful reprieve as she sat and watched the last of the sunrise over the Atlantic Ocean with only her new four legged friend. At some point in her musings, she had starting rolling the ring on her finger with her left thumb and stilled plucking at the grass with her right hand. Miles was not pleased by this alteration in subconscious displacement behaviors, and nudged her hand with his nose to indicate his displeasure. She smiled at the horse, as expressive chocolate eyes looked back at her, and plucked some more grass. She extended her palm, holding the treat out to him and he quickly nabbed it from her and with his soft and surprisingly prehensile lips. Then he looked at her expectantly until she did it again. She ran her other hand along the thick white stripe extending down his face as he nibbled more grass from her hand. She could figure out what the horse wanted, but wasn't sure what she wanted.

"Glad to see you two are getting along."

The horse instantly recognized his partner, or at least the person that fed him on a regular basis, and perked his ears up. But he seemed unwilling to leave Charlie, as she had started scratching behind one of his ears.

"He's not so bad." Charlie turned and gave Bass a slight smile.

"Wanna take him for a ride?"

Charlie was more than satisfied just sitting on the ground and feeding the horse, but just about anything sounded like a better idea than "the talk" that was looming inevitably between them. "Sure."

Bass ran a hand along the stallion's neck and scratched behind his ear before untying the lead rope from the driftwood. Then he looped the rope over the horse's neck and tied it to the other side of the nose band on the halter. Charlie eyed the makeshift bridle suspiciously.

"He'll be fine." Bass attempted to pacify her and stood by the horse's left shoulder.

She stepped up in front of him and grabbed a handful of the black mane at the base of the horse's neck. Then she lifted her left leg a bit. Bass reached down, gently grasped her calf, and heaved her easily up and onto the stallion's bare back. Charlie settled herself in a comfortable place and collected the rope that would serve as reins, as Bass stepped back from them. The horse seemed a bit inquisitive as to how someone was on his back and yet Bass was still on the ground next to him, but overall Charlie didn't get any red flags about his behavior.

"Take him for a spin." Bass smiled up at her.

She nudged his sides with her heels, and they walked forward. They walked in a few wide circles around where Bass was standing. The horse obeyed her well and overall he was pretty comfortable to ride. She reined him to a stop and was about to slide off.

"That's it?" Bass looked shocked.

"He's a nice horse." Charlie offered, not really sure what he expected from her.

"A nice horse?" He sounded affronted. "All you did was walk in a couple circles. That's like getting to test drive a Maserati and never taking it out of the parking lot!"

"You do realize that I have no idea what you're talking about, right?" Charlie couldn't hide the smile that started to creep out in her response. It was always kind of fun getting a rise out of him.

He rolled his eyes and proclaimed, "Hold on. Let me show you what you're missing."

He grabbed the reins and led the horse next to a piling that was left protruding from the sand where an old dock had once been. He used the post to gain enough height to swing his leg over the horse's back and hop on behind Charlie. He wrapped his arms around her and took the reins from her hands. Once he'd settled behind her and collected the reins, he urged the horse forward toward the shoreline at a trot.

It didn't feel like any time Charlie had ever ridden a horse before. The stallion's gait had so much lift and animation to it that it felt like floating, not the bumpy bouncing pace she was used to. It probably also didn't hurt that Bass was plastered to her back and had his arms around her. Once they hit the compacted sand at the tide line, Bass dug his heels into the horse's flanks again and they accelerated into a canter. Their hips rolled together with each of the stallion's powerful rocking strides, and Charlie was immensely thankful that the only thing she had to do in that moment was sit still and grab a handful of mane. The feeling of Bass moving rhythmically against her back had made her brain go all loopy. They rode that way together for a long stretch down the beach, beyond where all the occupied beachfront homes extended. Just when Charlie was about to tell him that he needed to stop the horse because she couldn't handle any more without tearing off his clothes, he pulled the horse up to a walk and then halted them by some dunes in an abandoned section of beach.

She could feel the smile on his face as he leaned forward and whispered into her ear, "Tell me that's not the most amazing thing you've ever had between your legs." Then he quickly dismounted.

Charlie forced herself to take a few deep breaths before she also slid to the ground. Once her feet were soundly in the sand she looked up at him and smirked, "I don't think I can answer that without offending you in one way or another."

She could swear that for a split second the terrifying Sebastian Monroe actually blushed. He apparently hadn't considered all the innuendo that could be read into his statement. He started laughing and dipped his head so that his face was out of sight briefly. When he lifted his face again, there was still a hint of a smile, but those deep frost blue irises held a more serious expression.

"About that…" He began somewhat awkwardly. He had dropped the horse's reins and Miles had wandered over to graze a few feet away.

"I don't regret it." She offered. Of that much she was certain.

His eyes softened slightly, as if he'd been a little concerned that she might have.

She stepped forward into him, and his arms instinctively wrapped around her almost protectively. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and they just stood together for a while, his cheek resting on the top of her head and her face against his shoulder.

"This is a little weird, right?" She asked somewhat jokingly. "I mean, after everything… you and me? Still not sure how this happened."

"I could draw you a diagram, but it would be a little obscene…"

She laughed at him. "I know how _that_ happened." Then she pulled back slightly and looked up at him. "But this is more than… _that_."

He paused to wipe back the strands of hair that the ocean breeze had blown across her face. "Yeah. It is." He let his hand linger where it had deposited the hair behind her ear then traced the back of his knuckles along her jaw line.

"This isn't something I expected and…" She started, but faltered.

"I don't think anyone saw this coming." He let his hand drift to the back of her head.

"I don't know what _this_ is." She admitted.

His other hand drifted along her shoulder and down her arm to entwine with the fingers of her left hand. Giving her hand a squeeze that drew attention to the ring on her finger, he said softly, "It is whatever we want it to be. Whatever we make it. To me it's not wanting to spend another night away from you, worrying if you're alright. It means that we make a hell of a team, and I don't want anything to come between that again."

"It was better when you were with us." She sighed, letting herself admit everything she'd worked so hard to hide for the last nine months. "I missed you every day. I don't know when, but something changed. You get me in a way the others don't. It started even before the whole fake married thing, but that whole experience… You were my partner and accomplice every step of the way, and I never doubted that you had my back. You were my best friend, and that's what I want back. For good this time."

He looked protectively into her eyes. "Charlotte..." He paused and dropped his forehead against hers. She'd come to realize that he did this whenever he was about to do or say something that he felt was important. With his lips just a hair away from hers, he breathed the words against her mouth more than spoke them, "I love you too."

She nearly laughed at him, and the smile made her lips ghost against his. "That's not what I said."

"Same thing." He smiled, their mouths grazing as he spoke.

She rolled her eyes at him. Maybe in a different context it could be. But he was still Sebastian Monroe, she was still Charlotte Matheson, and theirs was not a love story. She had hated him, tried to kill him, rescued him, befriended him, married him, slept with him, and realized that she cared about him, in that order. The L word just didn't seem appropriate. It was too mundane and uncomplicated, and those were never words that she would ever use to describe the two of them.

For him, however, maybe it was that simple. Whatever he did, he threw himself into headlong with complete abandon. It had gotten him hurt plenty of times, but he just didn't seem to know any other way to exist. While she'd seen firsthand how that obsessive nature could go horribly wrong, when it was focused the right way it showed him as fiercely loyal and honest to a fault. It was a rare occurrence, because of all the walls he'd put up to attempt to protect himself from the suffering another loss like the ones he'd already been dealt, but when he cared about someone, he did love with all of his heart. So maybe she wouldn't give him too much shit about semantics.

She gave in and kissed him. He returned the kiss and began running his hands up her back under her shirt. She arched into him and felt the bulge at the front of his pants pushing back against her. She'd spent nearly every night of the last nine months falling asleep to the memory of being in his arms and pinned between him and the wall. Feeling his obvious arousal, knowing that he'd replayed the same memories, she wanted him desperately.

With no further ado, she tugged his shirt off over his head. He chuckled at her forwardness, but fell in line quickly and disposed of her shirt as well. He unclasped her bra and skimmed the straps down her shoulders as she planted kisses along his collarbone. Boots were pried off, pants unbuckled and kicked to the side. Before they could even register what was happening, Charlie found herself naked and on her back in the sand, and he was right there with her, on top of her.

Here there was no hurry, and they took their time. They teased and claimed each other's bodies all the ways they'd both been wishing they had during all the long nights they'd spent apart. After their hands and mouths had had their fill of exploring and tasting, he took her slowly. They moved together almost cautiously at first, their tempo gradually increased as they learned the best ways to work the body pressed up against theirs. The more comfortable they became, the more playful and aggressive the sex got. They matched each other as perfectly in this endeavor as they had in all the previous fighting and espionage.

Charlie's second orgasm had just started to subside as he spilled himself in the sand between her thighs. She tugged his face to hers and kissed him recklessly. They pulled apart only when they absolutely had to for the sake of oxygenating their exhausted bodies and collapsed next to each other in the sand.

She gripped his hand in hers, intertwining her fingers with his. Once Charlie felt like she might be able to speak again she rolled over to look at him. "Not that I'm complaining, but I'm gonna be spending the next month trying to get sand out of places where there really ought not be sand."

The smile he gave her matched her own. "Don't bother. I plan on getting plenty more sand in plenty more places before we head back to DC." Then he rolled over and placed an elbow on either side of her torso so that his upper body hovered above her as he shook his head and a shower of sand rained down on her from his unruly curls.

She squealed and pushed him off of her, reaching for her sand encrusted tank top. They dressed slowly, stopping to kiss and touch each other as they passed their respective clothing between them from where they found it littering the beach. It was a genuinely futile endeavor, because as soon as they were nearly fully dressed again, there had been enough time, kissing, and petting, that the clothes ended up being flung right back onto the ground.

It was nearly noon by the time they were both fully dressed and riding Miles at a slow walk through the surf back to their camp. This time Charlie sat behind Bass, her cheek resting on his shoulder, her arms wrapped around his torso, and her hands occasionally skimming along the front of his jeans whenever she wasn't using them to hold herself in place. He gave a very contented sigh as a soft breeze blew in from across the ocean.

"So what happens now?" She almost reluctantly asked.

"Depends what POTUS Pittman has in store for us I s'pose." He offered, his voice more relaxed than she'd probably ever heard it. "There'll be a few Patriot hold-outs to mop up in places for the next few months at least. Connor and Jason Neville are talking about heading off to take out a reprogramming camp we heard about in Florida."

Charlie slouched against his back. So that was it. They'd just keep on fighting. After all she'd done to end this war, to keep her family and all the other families safe, that was all there was for her, for everyone she cared about. More fighting. "I don't think I can do it anymore." She whispered. "What if I don't want to keep fighting?"

"Then we stop."

She sat up and looked at the back of his head, stunned. _We_? "You'd give it up too?"

He shifted the reins into his right hand and moved his left to cover hers where it was loosely clinging to his hip. He let his fingers play with the gold band on her finger as he turned his head to look at her. "The 'we' part is kind of implied."

Charlie didn't know what to say.

As if sensing her surprise, he turned his head to look at her. "I know it may be hard for you to believe, but I do have some talents that extend beyond killing people."

"I'm well aware, actually." She chuckled into his shoulder suggestively.

He rolled his eyes. "Glad to know that all you think I'm good for is fighting and fucking." His tone was teasing. "I did happen to run an entire country for a decade."

"Yeah, I remember. It's really kind of hard to forget. But I thought we were talking about things you were good at." She smiled smugly at him.

"Very funny." He was all sarcasm.

Then Charlie was slightly hesitant. She could just make out the house her family had been occupying along the shore in the distance. The realization that they were nearly back to their camp and all the associated stresses of command were weighing heavily on her. "What use am I going to be? I've never done anything but fight. I don't think I know how to do anything else."

He reined the horse to a stop and turned so that he was able to look her in the eyes as he spoke. "Your parents are the smartest people I've ever met. And Miles… book smarts might not exactly be his forte, but you've seen him do that tactical strategy thing he does. It's like he's some kind of idiot savant. Then there's you. You've already done the impossible more times than I can count. You go after what you think is right, and you've never let anyone or anything stop you. Present company included." He smiled playfully at her. "In all my life, I've never known a Matheson to fail at anything. Not a one of you. Somehow, I don't think this is gonna be any different." He slid a hand into the hair at the back of her head and let his fingertips knead against her scalp

"Only one problem with your theory." She sighed as she leaned her head back into his touch.

"What's that?" He leaned in and let his lips graze across hers before planting a feather light kiss there.

"We've all failed. My entire family, every one of us – Miles, me, Mom, Grandpa… we all failed miserably at the same thing." She kissed him back, drawing his top lip between her teeth gently. He moaned as she pulled back away from him a few inches. "None of us ever did manage to kill you."

They both smiled against each other's lips.

"Just wait until your mom finds out about this. She might still take a few more shots at it."

They both laughed, righted themselves on the horse, and resumed their slow march back toward the real world and the many responsibilities that awaited them. They weren't sure exactly what those responsibilities would be yet, but there was a country to rebuild, and this time they were going to do it right. This time, none of them were in it alone. Together, they were so much more than the sum of their parts. They were a family, and that was a vow that Charlie was certain she could honor for better or for worse, for the rest of her life.


	6. Epilogue

The early days of Aaron's presidency focused on doing whatever possible to help unite the country and prepare for an election to get him out of office. True to his word, every one of the people in the pool house that night ended up working under him.

Miles was given the title of Secretary of Defense. He had initially objected, claiming that he didn't want to see history repeat itself again. With the concession that the military would be overall governed by a civilian oversight committee, Miles had eventually accepted control of the armed forces. The gift he had for strategy was ultimately something they couldn't waste.

Neville was appointed as Aaron's Secretary of State. The position suited the man quite well, as the job came with the status and trappings he'd always wanted, allowed him to politically maneuver and manipulate opponents to his heart's content, and didn't require him to spend time focusing on the many humanitarian efforts that were necessary to keep the country together after the destruction that the Patriots had wrought.

Rachel became the Surgeon General. All matters scientific and medical were directed through her and the brain trust of intellectuals and scientists she quickly developed. Aaron enjoyed occasionally getting to talk pre-blackout tech with the group whenever his schedule allowed.

Having recently trekked entirely across the continent and back, Bass became the Secretary of Transportation. He oversaw the massive projects that Aaron had insisted on implementing – establishing and improving road, waterway, and rail transit through the country to better reconnect the people of the disjointed continent. The projects put a large number of the country's displaced citizens to work. With purpose and a paycheck, the general public seemed to once again find pride and confidence in the US of A. And while absolute power had corrupted Bass absolutely, his upper-middle management position was a great fit. He didn't have to make the big decisions or tough calls, just follow orders and ensure that those working beneath him got the job done.

At Miles's suggestion, Charlie became the youngest Postmaster General in the history of the country. She was responsible for travelling throughout the continent and setting up what was essentially a pony express network to improve communication across the country. It always brought a smile to Aaron's face each time he received a post card from her from different parts of the country as an indication that their messenger network had expanded. That tin box of post cards with pictures of far away places had been her dream when he had known her growing up in Sylvania Estates. The fact that after everything, they had somehow found a way to give that dream back to her was one of the proudest achievements Aaron could claim for his presidency. Though he couldn't help but notice that the origin of Charlie's post cards seemed to consistently coincide with whatever territory Bass was working in at the time.

Even Duncan was credited as being the regime's Secretary of the Interior, though she'd simply done exactly what she had said she would. She helped unify the former Plains Nation and western territories, and brought them into compliance under US rule.

The country was once again united. There was safe travel from coast to coast, an orderly dissemination of information to every territory in the country, a military that protected the people instead of terrorized them, negligible taxes, and health care clinics stocked with whatever medications they could still produce without electricity springing up everywhere. Despite doing everything he could to ensure that the country would be ready and able to elect a new president within two years, Aaron's efforts backfired rather spectacularly. He was elected by a landslide.

For the next half a decade, the country flourished. Not too long after being elected to his second full term, Aaron was sitting at his desk in the oval office, reading through his mail. The letter that had stalled his progress through the stack was out of Oregon, and was going to mean trouble for his command structure. At least it was the best kind of trouble, which only really happened because most of his cabinet was now related by blood or marriage. They were going to have to arrange maternity leave for Charlie again. And the wise ass father of her children was going to insist on paternity leave too. Sometimes he wondered if it would be easier if they had just killed Monroe when they had the chance all those years before. And of course this had happened while they were working clear across the continent. That meant that Miles and Rachel would be out of the office for an extended period of time as well. He may have been the President, but the Mathesons were undoubtedly the First Family. The country's government had all but shut down for the birth of the first little Matheson-Monroe. Though Aaron would concede that it had been a relatively fair trade for the safe arrival of his blue eyed and curly blonde headed god-daughter. He expected no less this time around.

Aaron was grumbling about how tranquil the idea of a Matheson-free cabinet would be, when a young boy suddenly appeared in front of him. After overcoming the initial shock of the apparition's appearance, Aaron recovered quickly. He'd spent the last seven years planning exactly what he would say to the nanites if the opportunity ever arose again. He was ready.

A press conference was scheduled for the next day. As Aaron took the podium in front of the press corps that had become somewhat familiar to him over the previous six years, they began to all ask why they'd been assembled.

"Today we're going to talk about nanotechnology and the blackout." He announced. The reporters all seemed a little less than thrilled. "I know. This is an old topic and not one that's usually of any interest to most of you." Then he produced a dilapidated old lamp and sat it on top of the podium. It was missing its lampshade and the bulb was exposed. "But this time I think you're all going to find it rather exciting." He twisted the knob on the lamp near the base of the bulb, and the light bulb began to glow.


End file.
